


Avada Eyes

by DarkestMuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Black Family Drama, Blood Magic, Books 1-4, Dark Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Black, Harry grew up in an orphanage, Hurt Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Manipulative Harry, Mentor Severus Snape, Multi, Obscurial Harry Potter, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Rating May Change, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slightly Toxic Relationships, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry Potter, heir Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 175,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestMuse/pseuds/DarkestMuse
Summary: Harry Potter was supposed to have glasses and hair like his father and the eyes of his mother. He was supposed to be a humble boy Sorted into Gryffindor with a penchant for throwing himself into danger and saving others, even to his own detriment- but it seemed like someone had neglected to tellhimthatOr the one where Hadrian Potter-Black struggles between nature and nurture and shits all over others' plans.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 466
Kudos: 1605
Collections: Dark Harry Is Amazing





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd only by Grammarly so please feel free to point out any errors to me. Hope you guys enjoy and see you at the bottom!
> 
> Also, I own nothing apart from the plot and am making no money off this whatsoever. (Seriously. Zero. I'm broke)

Hush.

No, stop crying. Stop. He’ll hear you.

You don’t want him to hear, do you?

There now, wipe your eyes. It’ll be alright. It’s just a little blood.

It’s better that he takes it this way. Less painful. And didn’t he smile at Sally-Anne just last week when she’d knocked her tooth loose and bled all over the place? Frank said he’d heard Luke say that he’d even heard him say thank you.

Wouldn’t you like that?

Quick, he’ll be coming to get it. Best get to your room. Madame Ida will try to lock him up again if she catches you snivelling like that. Then where will we be? Lawrence still has to use his crutches and that was two years ago.

Come now, maybe Cook will give you some grapes.

He’s coming.

He’ll hear you.

Hush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this is really short but it's just something so that I can get into that creative space. I'm working on a few other fics but this one came to me and wouldn't leave me alone until I posted so here. I've got the next few planned out but I can't promise a regular update schedule or anything- or even that I know what I'm doing with this story or where it's going. 
> 
> That said, who do you guys want to see Harry end up with? Chances are this is going to end up as an M/M but I'm open to suggestions. I'm kind of leaning towards a Harry/Voldemort, probably with an initial Harry/Draco but we'll see. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, leave some kudos and I'll see you for the next one (which will probably be up soon). Oh, and let me know what other tags to add.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no beta but Grammarly and Google Docs.  
> I own nothing but the plot.

There’s an old gramophone in the corner of the room playing a jazzy tune as papers whirl about the office, folding and sliding into their envelopes before laying neatly in a pile. 

Behind the desk, Minerva McGonagall smiles wistfully at the familiar names, clucking her tongue and recalling all the pranks and fights and achievements. It’s a bittersweet job, being a teacher. It’s its own kind of magic to watch these small, innocent lambs grow and change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. 

She’d just finished the final line of the letter for one Susan Bones, swiping a tear from her cheek at the memory of the girl’s parents. A teacher should not outlive her student, after all, and Minerva had been present at too many funerals whose name she’d called at their Sorting.

Alas, such was not the day for such maudlin thoughts. 

The Transfiguration Professor worked steadily through the names on the list, losing herself in the humdrum autonomy of it until there came a name and an address that made her heart stutter to a stop and her features freeze. 

_No. Surely, there’s been a mistake? A mix-up, of some sort? These things do wear down with time, after all…_

It took a moment of blinking at the parchment for her to kick herself into motion. She snatched it from the desk, striding to her fireplace before tossing a handful of sparkling green powder and shouting out her destination. 

“Minerva! Lemon drop?” 

The Scottish woman sniffed, brushing soot from her shoulder. 

“No, thank you, Albus. This is not a social call.” Her voice was sharp as she strode over to where the old man sat, bright blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses. He sported canary yellow robes today, with ice-cream cones dancing with smiling suns. 

It didn’t take long for his sunny disposition to disappear and there was suddenly a strange calm about the room as if it held its breath before a storm. 

“There must be some mistake,” he says simply, but there’s a slight cracking in his tone that makes the breath in Minerva’s lungs grow cold. 

“My thoughts exactly. But I thought that considering you are his magical guardian, you would know. And if it _is_ wrong, then we must double-check all of the names, lest we drop in on some perfectly muggle household proclaiming a child to be capable of the impossible.” 

There was no hesitance in her words for Minerva was not one to doubt herself (Severus had always sneered at her more bold Gryffindor qualities). She trusted that Albus was a good man, a man with only the best of intentions for everyone in mind, and so she would trust that he would not allow what _appeared_ to be true to be a reality. 

It simply couldn’t be. There was no room for doubt in this because the alternative could be disastrous. 

But there was a look in his eyes that Minerva couldn’t quite make out. On anybody else, she’d assume it to be guilt or shame; but this was Albus Dumbledore, who had no cause to feel such things. 

The man had the situation completely in hand, and would see to it that all was well. 

“I will deal with this, Minerva. Thank you. The others should be just fine.” 

Minerva McGonagall nodded curtly, cast a last look at the man who suddenly looked all of his one hundred years, before Flooing back to her office. 

Those letters wouldn’t write themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, slightly longer and into the actual story now. What do you think?  
> Again, let me know who you guys think Harry should end up with. I've had a suggestion for a Harry/Daphne pairing but as you can see from the updated status of the story it will be M/M (sorry)  
> PS: it's scientifically proven that Kudos and Comments provide faster work. Just saying


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't resist posting this now- at least it's technically the next day so meh. I thought rather than reply to each comment I'd gift you guys with an early update (it definitely won't be this frequent all the way through because I'm not known for my adherence to schedules but we'll see). 
> 
> No beta but Grammarly and Google Docs and I own nothing but the plot.

The street was quiet. The houses were all the same. There wasn’t much that could be said about the place. 

Quaint. That’s it. The town was quaint in all sense of the word. 

_(That is, if we’re being polite and not just calling it boring)_

So, of course, Albus in his magenta robes and beard that yearned to touch his knees stood out quite a bit. 

Or- he _would_ if not for that handy little thing called magic. A quick Disillusionment Charm and he was no more noticeable than the odd weed that pushed its way up between the pavement or bird that took flight in the air. 

The little town of Little Whinging kept to a strict schedule, so at five o’clock in the evening when Albus strode to one Number Four Privet Drive, it was safe to assume that everybody was indoors enjoying their evening meal. 

He’d been at the Ministry all day, helping Fudge sort out several technicalities with the International Confederation of Wizards before assisting with the wording of several proposed Bills. The next Wizengamot session would certainly be interesting...

He could hear the blast of one of those television things (Arthur had been absolutely fascinated with them for ages but all the movement tended to give Albus a headache) and the loud shouts from inside. It seemed they were cheering for something, and Albus fondly thought back to the days of football in the backyard with Aberforth and their father. 

Repressing the memories of a sentimental old fool, he pushed the buzzer, humming lightly to himself as he waited. 

It didn’t take long for the door to be opened, and he was greeted by the sight of a bony woman with a striking resemblance to a horse. She blinked once, twice, before her features twisted until disgust warped them into that of a shrew. 

“What are you _doing_ here?” she hissed, and her eyes darted about the place. 

Albus smiled. “Hello, Petunia. How are you?” 

“We don’t want your kind here,” she hissed again, and drew herself up, clutching at the door. “Go away, leave us alone.” 

“Petunia! Who is it?” called a thick voice from inside, and Petunia flinched slightly, paling. 

“Nobody, dear, I was just-”

“Mr Dursley, if I could have a word, inside?” Albus cut her off, going to take a step forward. 

There was a thunderous sound, like a stampede, and then a short, rather round, rotund, heavy-set, padded and purpling man appeared, shouldering his wife out of the way. He opened his mouth and was set to reply before he blinked and seemed to actually _see_ who was stood in front of him. 

“Freak! Get out of here before I-”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Albus cut in demurely again, his smile still fixed in place. “I was just wondering if I could speak to Mr Potter.” 

“He’s not here!” Dursley spat, and his face deepened to a rather alarming shade of purple which made the scar on the man's face that ran from the corner of his lip all the way up to the crease of his eye rather stand out. Albus reckoned it was quite unhealthy, and considered offering the man a Calming Drought-laced lemon drop but dismissed the idea. He probably wouldn’t accept it anyway. 

“We sent the little freak away the next day!” continued Dursley, before he suddenly broke out into a vicious grin. Petunia was pale as she opened her mouth but her husband cut her off. “Left him in the blanket and all. I wouldn’t spend a single penny of my money on the abomination. Just as he was dumped here I dumped him there.” 

The dread that had been welling in Albus from the previous day when he’d blinked down at the parchment Minerva had handed him returned and blossomed into a strange amalgamation of fear and guilt and pre-emptive horror. 

Stood beside her husband, Petunia was wringing her hands and biting her lip while she shifted uneasily. 

“I...I wouldn’t have any more of Lily’s poor choices haunting me. The boy wouldn’t be any better here than he would have been there.” She nodded as if assuring herself, before lifting her chin and meeting the old man’s gaze (she couldn’t help but flinch though, because Albus wasn’t doing a good job of hiding his sorrow). 

“I see,” he said finally, before heaving a sigh. “I’m afraid, my dears, that you may have doomed us all. I pray that you’ve done the right thing, and I would suggest you do too. Good day.” 

Then he turned and with a crack was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what do you think?  
> Next chapter is going to take a little while longer because it's quite more than double the length of this one and advances the plot a lot more, and after that I've only got one more pre-written chapter so I need to get some more writing in.  
> You guys' love and support is greatly appreciated, and I'm glad to see the ideas that I had were so popular, so I think you guys will really like what I've got festering. 
> 
> Drop a kudo and a comment for faster posts ;)  
> Next; we meet Severus and...more


	4. Little Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Severus comes for one and is greeted by...quite a lot

Severus always hated this time of year. 

Rather, he hated _any_ time of year, and while this wasn’t necessarily the worst, it was in his top five (along with start of term, Christmas and final exams month). 

Every Head of House was out visiting the new intake of muggle-borns, and he’d been tasked with visiting an orphanage in South London, not necessarily the best part of the illustrious city. 

With a sigh, he gave his name to the boy at reception before sitting in the waiting room. 

Some five minutes passed before the door was pushed open and three people entered. One was a tall, waifish woman with a stern set to her mouth and cold grey eyes. Her hay-blonde hair was scraped back in a bun that seemed to lift all of the sagging skin on her face, and the gnarled hand was clutching the shoulder of a little girl with cornflower hair pulled back in a sensible ponytail. 

The third person- with hauntingly familiar eyes and a head of hair so unruly it seemed ready to leap from his head- made all the breath rush from Severus’ lungs and the heart he’d long-believed to have died to shrivel anew. 

“Potter,” he breathed, against his will, and the woman (Madame Ida probably) shot him a sharp look. 

Severus half-hoped that he was wrong, but it was futile with the apparent carbon-copy of his long reviled enemy made flesh before him, not to mention the infamous scar that peeked from behind a messy fringe. Everyone was watching him with wide eyes and he could make out the faint confusion in the boy’s face before it smoothed away. 

The woman blinked at him for a moment before turning her reptilian gaze back to the boy. “Leave Sally alone, _boy_ ,” she snarled. “You will not ruin this for her.” 

Those eyes (verdant green and bright and sparkling just like _hers_ ) flicked up to meet the matron’s, and he smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile, but it was sweet, and Severus was so busy puzzling over how exactly that was possible that he almost missed what he said. 

“It’s Sally- _Anne_ , Madame Ida. I just wanted to let her know that I won’t be too far away if she needed me.” The last part was directed to the small girl with a soft smile, and she nodded, a smile of her own gracing her face. The boy turned to Severus then, and the man stiffened under the full weight of that gaze. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr Snape.” His voice was just as soft, but there was something about his gaze that spoke of...well, _something_ more. Severus felt a headache coming on trying to work everything out. 

The boy turned when he didn’t get a response, squeezing the little girl’s hand once more before traipsing after the matron. 

“Mr Potter,” Severus called, suddenly desperate. There was too much happening here, not enough things making sense. “Stay. I believe this pertains to you as well.” 

The matron jerked, eyes narrowing on them before something like disgust twisted on her face and left, slamming the door behind her. Severus surreptitiously flicked his wand and muttered a muffling charm, so no eager little eavesdroppers could listen in. 

He indicated to the seats opposite him before sitting down again. “I am Professor Severus Snape. You are Sally-Anne Perks?” The girl bobbed her head, and Severus turned his gaze to the boy. “And you are...Harry Potter?” The boy nodded once. 

There was a beat of silence between them, and Severus found himself studying the boy. He showed no surprise at a man he’s never seen, met or even heard of before knowing his name. The girl, Minerva had made an appointment with earlier before she'd handed him his list of names. But Potter...there was nothing linking them and yet the boy sat there silently looking on with that frustratingly calm smile. 

From an inside pocket, he produced the girl’s acceptance letter and handed it over. “I am the Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” 

He watched the girl’s eyes widen as she read the letter, turning wide blue eyes to the boy. Potter, beside her, only flicked his eyes over the writing, a slow smile curling his lips before he nodded resolutely as if affirming something. 

“I...I don’t…” the girl’s voice was small as she stuttered, turning wide blue eyes first to Severus and then to Potter. The boy offered her another one of those soft smiles, squeezing her hand. 

There was something odd about the relationship between the two of them. The girl hardly took a breath without looking to Potter for something- validation? Approval? Permission?

“You are a witch, Miss Perks. I’m sure you’ve been capable of things that are...unusual?” She bobbed her head, dropping her gaze to her hand and hunching her shoulders. Beside her, Potter shot him a sharp look, squeezing her hand again. 

“Yes, I thought so. It’s called accidental magic; very common in young magical children. At Hogwarts, we teach you how to control your magic.” The trepidation and weariness seemed to melt away even as she continued to glance sidelong at her...friend? keeper?

Neither of them spoke for a while, and Severus didn’t miss the mistrust in the boy’s eyes. He sighed. “I suppose a demonstration is in order?” 

He flicked his wand and the couch he was sitting on morphed, the seat becoming more stuffed and the colour deepening to a forest green. Another flick and two dragon plushies were conjured (his godson Draco had seemed particularly impressed with that when he was a squalling babe). 

Their reactions were expected, with the girl’s eyes as wide as saucers while the boy stared at the first the plushies now sat by their feet and the couch. He turned his attention back to the letter still clutched in his hand. Finally he turned his verdant gaze to Severus

“Am I a wizard, Professor?” 

Severus’ brow twitched. “Yes,” he muttered, eyes narrowed. Potter nodded again, his eyes dancing over Severus before flicking up to meet his dark eyes again. 

“And my parents? Do you know if they were...magic, too?”

A sneer tried to pull at Severus’ lip but he managed to wrangle his expression under control, offering the boy only a curt nod of his head. 

Then...well, then Severus wasn’t quite sure what happened. Something, like warm honey and firewhiskey and spiced cinnamon, filled the air and Severus barely bit back a gasp as his...his _magic_ responded, rearing up like a poked snake and snapping in the air. 

As suddenly as the sensation came it disappeared, and Severus was left frowning. 

“Why don’t I have a letter, Professor? Is there something I need to do to get in? Exams? Entrance fee?” 

Potter’s voice was soft but sharp at the same time ( _would the contradictions never end?_ )

“No, Mr Potter. I am certain that you have been accepted. I was under the impression that you were currently residing...elsewhere.” 

“I don’t see how that’s possible. I have lived here my entire life.” 

Ah, and there was the hint of bitterness in the boy’s life, and the start of a particularly vicious snarl on his lips. 

Severus’ brow twitched. 

“Hm. Indeed. I will be back tomorrow so that we can shop for your school supplies. Be ready by ten.” Then, from the folds of his robes, he pulled out a small black fabric, which he tapped his wand against. 

Smirking, he watched as the girl gasped and gaped at the suddenly enlarged bag while the boy said nothing, but whose eyes sparkled ever brighter. 

From the bag he pulled out a book and pamphlet, holding it out. The girl glanced over at Potter, who smiled and accepted them, patting the girl on the hand again. The two seemed fascinated with the book, titled _‘The Muggleborn Guide to the Wizarding World’_. 

Severus stood, and watched in amusement as Potter rose as well, nudging the girl softly who scrambled to her feet. Potter stuck his small hand out to shake. “A pleasure, Professor. We’ll be ready tomorrow.” 

The girl shook his hand as well. “Sir, erm, Professor…” she glanced sidelong at Potter before rushing out, “Is there any way that- I, erm. Well, we don’t have any money.” Potter scowled then, tensing and clenching his fists before wiping any trace of expression from his face and body. 

“That will not be a problem. Ten AM and no later.” He didn’t wait around for anything more before sweeping out of the orphanage, to a deserted alley, and Disapparating. 

  
  


_(It wasn’t even until he was finishing another potion for the infirmary that night that Severus realised that the boy had known his name even before introductions)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I said that this chapter would be much longer but t eventually ended up something like 10k so I had to cut it in half. 
> 
> For a bit of context, this takes place the same evening McGonagall wrote the letters. Heads of Houses are given the muggle-born letters in advance so that they can get to all of their houses and explain everything while still leaving enough time for them to go to Diagon Alley, read up on some material and get to grips that their sons/daughters are actually magical. 
> 
> The last chapter happens chronologically at the same time that the next chapter will be happening. Quite confusing, I know, but bear with me here. Leave me some love?
> 
> Oh, and I wrote a Harry/Theo scene yesterday and whewwww chile let's just say I can't wait until they get to about fifth year. 
> 
> Next time; Diagon Alley and few more surprises


	5. And Thus it Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagon Alley. Need more be said?

Severus tried to find Albus the next morning, but he was informed by Filius that the headmaster had flooed over to the Ministry, and he was _not_ stepping foot there if he absolutely didn’t have to. 

So at quarter-to-ten in the morning, he Apparated to South London and strode towards the drab grey building. 

The boy at reception hardly spared him a glance before he was ushering the two children into his care. “Madame Ida says that they’re to be back no later than five, and if they miss lunch here then you’ll have to buy it for them.” 

Severus raised a brow, and the boy gulped, shuffling back behind his desk. 

“Very well,” he drawled, turning his attention to the two children. The girl- Perks (he supposed he should make an effort to learn her name) seemed equal parts excited and nervous while Potter simply stood and waited patiently. 

Their clothes were obviously worn and old, mended at least three times, but Severus could see that they were in better condition than his own were at their age. 

The thought brought a sneer to his face. Even brought up in this abysmal place Potter managed to show him up. “Come,” he commanded sharply before sweeping out. 

When they got to the road, deserted for the minute, Severus brandished his wand and held it out, waiting a moment before taking a step back. Potter copied, grabbing hold of Perks just as a triple-decker purple monstrosity screeched to halt in front of them. 

“The Warrior Bus!” gasped Perks. 

“Knight Bus, Sally-Anne,” corrected Potter with a patient smile. The girl blushed before shrugging and grabbing hold of her friend and tugging him on behind Severus. 

Severus paid their fare, ignoring Ernie and Stan as he directed his wards into their seats. “Hold on,” he warned but said nothing more. If the little miscreants decided not to heed his words then the results would be entirely their own fault. 

Potter and Perks almost flew from their seats when the bus took off, and the blonde girl was shrieking and laughing as they watched the world zoom by. Cars jumped out of their way, impossible gaps were squeezed into and buildings narrowly avoided on their way towards the inner city. 

Severus was thankful that the trip wasn’t very long because, by the time that they were stumbling off in front of The Leaky Cauldron, he was fairly sure that he’d turned quite green. 

“This way,” he grits out, swallowing convulsively. Apparition he could handle, Portkeying and Flooing weren’t a problem; that blasted bus could rot in hell. 

Perks appeared to lose any lingering joy from the ride, and Potter had a pensive look on his face as he placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. His green gaze was flicking everywhere, up at the crooked sign to the apparently grubby windows. A fleeting frown creased his forehead before it smoothed out again. 

Severus bit back an amused chuckle and pushed the door to the inn open. The children were hesitant at first, but after Perks took a bold step forward, Potter gripping her shoulder almost in warning, they were both in. 

As usual, the place was full and loud. Roars of laughter echoed about with the usual susurrus of chatter and noise. His wards looked around with wide eyes, taking in the floating teapots and self-stirring spoons and rags that wiped the tables without any hands attached to them. 

Potter made the unfortunate action of scratching his head just as Tom was walking by, and the fringe that normally covered the scar was brushed aside and put on display for the man to see. 

“Merlin’s beard!” cried Tom, dropping his cups with a loud clatter. “That’s Harry Potter!” 

And the entire place seemed to freeze before rushing into action. 

Witches and wizards threw themselves in front of the boy, reaching out to shake his hand or grab at his shoulder or even touch his scar. 

Potter, for his part, jerked back with a vicious sneer, pushing Perks behind him as he snarled in their faces. But nobody seemed to have taken much notice, for hardly a moment passed before he was relaxing again, a small smile softening his features as he shook hands and murmured back to the gushing crowd. 

Severus couldn’t help his sneer. If he’d had any doubts before, this served as the greatest reminder of who sired the boy. He could see James Potter in the way the boy’s spine straightened and his shoulders pulled back while he charmed them all, nodding and smiling and laughing. 

_(He ignored the part that said it was all Lily in how soft the boy’s voice was or how he seemed to still shelter Perks behind him because that would be yet another contradiction to deal with and Severus hadn’t the time or patience to puzzle it out)_. 

“Enough!” he snapped, stepping forward. His glare was enough to drive away half of them, and the other half backed up once he placed a commandeering hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Insolent brat,” Severus seethed as he manoeuvred them through the inn and towards the entrance for Diagon Alley. “I have no time to indulge your petty need to stroke your ego, Potter,” he sneered, scowling down at the boy. Potter appeared to be on the verge of sneering back but settled for narrowing his eyes instead. Perks was wringing her hands behind him. 

“Stay close. Don’t wander off. And if you can go ten minutes without the adoring simpering from your fans then don’t reveal who you are.” Perks bobbed her head, even though the last part didn’t apply to her but Potter simply nodded once, curtly. “Words, Potter.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Severus nodded once before turning to the brick wall and tapping out the correct sequence. 

The wonders of Diagon Alley was revealed to them as the bricks melted away, and if Severus paused long enough for the two scoundrels to gape with open awe at the sheer display of _magic_ \- then it was simply because he had to collect his thoughts and prepare himself for the eventual fanfare. 

Without turning to check if they were following, Severus started off on a beeline for Gringotts. There was a boy across the road calling out the headlines of today’s _Daily Prophet_ -

_“Runcorn claims another use for dragon blood? Minister Fudge wins over the ICW! New auditory measures implemented at Hogwarts!”_

-and a crowd with their noses pressed up against the window of _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ and a line a mile long for _Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour_. The usual crowds seemed to have doubled, and Severus bemoaned the fact that he was forced into such close proximity to so many blasted _people_. 

A missive should be sent out, he seethed silently, on the days that he dared venture beyond the walls of Hogwarts that warns the common populace to stay away with their babbling and smiling and cheer-

His inner monologue was cut short when Perks was nearly swept away in a sudden surge of the crowd- the cause nothing more significant than excitable bookworms exiting _Flourish and Blotts._

It took longer than he would have liked to reach the bank, with Potter and Perks almost getting swept away no less than _three_ times. But they finally made it to the giant marble columns and into the lavish interior. 

Severus had never really liked how gaudy the place looked with their elaborate chandeliers and gleaming gold counters and polished tile floors. Then again, Severus thought that owning robes in varying shades of black was colourful enough. 

The children beside him were staring at the place in awe and Severus could see the beginning of a smile curling Potter’s mouth. It was the same one that he gave when Severus confirmed that the boy was, in fact, a wizard. 

Thinking about it, it looked remarkably like one of the smirks Lucius Malfoy gave when he managed to talk the Wizengamot around to accepting some borderline-Dark bill; smug and satisfied like the cat who finally caught the canary. 

It had no place on a child’s face.

Brushing such thoughts aside, Severus brought them to a till. It seemed they had at least read to the section on the illustrious bank, for neither of them looked too alarmed at the creatures manning the desk. “One withdrawal from Hogwarts’ Muggle-born Fund and a blood test.” 

The goblin in front of him bared his teeth, its beady black eyes roving over all three of them before he turned and gabbled something to another goblin. “Key,” it rasped, holding out a spindly, clawed hand, to which Severus dropped a gleaming key and parchment. The goblin bared its teeth again before glancing down at the parchment. 

They didn’t have to wait long before a small pouch was deposited on the counter. “Griphook will see to you in a moment. Are you willing to pay the five Galleon fee for the blood test regardless of the outcome?” 

Severus just waved them off with a muttered “yes, whatever”, to which the creature smiled again and barked over his shoulder. 

“Griphook will be with you shortly. Take a seat.” It then turned back to whatever it had been writing before, scribbling furiously with its long feathered quill. 

Severus made a noise in his throat, not bothering to stop his nose from wrinkling in distaste before he ushered his wards to the waiting area. Not much time had passed before another goblin was pottering over to them. 

This one seemed more stern, with skin that sagged and folded over itself and a nose longer and more hooked than Severus’ own (a fact he most certainly was _not_ pleased over). 

“Lord Prince, a pleasure. Follow me.” The goblin- Griphook- didn’t waste any time on pleasantries as he turned and lead them down more gleaming archways and golden corridors. For such a small thing he sure could move fast, and Severus checked to make sure that the children could keep up. Perks was still peering around with wide eyes while Potter made something of an effort to catalogue everything without showing how impressed he was. 

Severus saw it in the boy’s eyes. 

_(He resolutely batted aside the thought that the boy would make a rather fine snake. It was preposterous- no, more, blasphemous.)_

They were taken to an office of mostly browns and gold, the ostentatious feel was more subdued in here, more subtle with the old but ornate desk and plush armchairs. 

“Of all people I wouldn’t expect the Wizarding World’s hero to need a blood test.” 

Severus’ sneer was instant, but the boy simply smiled and said nothing, slipping into the same seat as Perks. Severus huffed and took the other seat. 

“I don’t have his Gringotts key. It’s best he comes and learns all this for himself; there’ll be nobody to do his shopping for him no matter _what_ he thinks.” Severus shot the boy a sharp look, but the boy’s eyes simply seemed to be sparkling in amusement. 

_(Everything about the boy said ‘simple’ but nothing about him actually was. How did that make any sense?)_

Griphook pushed a parchment across the desk and towards Potter, and it was only with mute and morbid fascination that Severus watched the boy accept the silver dagger and slash at his hand. 

Blood welled instantly, and the boy held his dripping palm over the parchment, face impassive as the blood was soaked up and lines began forming. 

Unnaturally bright eyes flew up to meet his own dark orbs as Severus wrapped a hand around the boy’s wrist, pressing a conjured handkerchief to the weeping wound. Potter blinked before cupping his hand over the fabric and nodding at him.

“Harry…” started Perks, wringing her own hands in her lap. Her eyes (always so wide and fearful) were worried again as she bit at her lip. Her gaze flicked over to Severus briefly, and she ducked her chin. 

“It’s fine, Sally-Anne. Don’t worry about it.” His voice was still soft, comforting and gentle as he brushed his hand against the girl’s arm. She relaxed instantly, smiling a watery smile. 

“Well this is interesting.” 

Their focus snapped to the goblin who was peering down at the parchment with raised brows (which did nothing to soften his looks. If anything, Severus supposed that if goblins went around looking like _that_ all the time they’d probably never have to scowl and glare at their customers again). 

The parchment was turned so that they could read it, and a cold jolt ran down Severus’ spine. 

> **_Hadrian James Potter-Black_ **
> 
> _Father: James Charlus Potter (Deceased)_
> 
> _Mother: Lillian Evans (Deceased)_
> 
> _Blood-Adopted Father: Sirius Orion Black (Incarcerated)_
> 
> _Blood Status: First Generation Pure Blood_
> 
> _Heir Status_
> 
> _Heir Potter for the Ancient and Noble House of Potter (Paternal)_
> 
> _Heir Black for the Ancient and Noble House of Black (Blood-Adopted Paternal)_
> 
> _Heir Peverell for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell (Paternal: through Potter line)_
> 
> _Vaults_
> 
> _Potter Family Vault (sealed until majority): 10,000,000G, 17,000S, 4930K_
> 
> _Black Family Vault (sealed until majority): 23,000,000G, 21,000S, 5870K_
> 
> _Potter Trust Vault: 500,000G_
> 
> _Black Trust Vault: 1,150,000G_

Beneath that was a list almost the length of Severus’ arm of other smaller vaults old witches and wizards had bequeathed to the boy for his defeat of the Dark Lord. 

And the boy...the boy sat there with his infuriatingly calm smirk and an air of such _smug_ satisfaction that it made Severus’ skin crawl. 

“Interesting indeed, Griphook.”

Severus’ brow twitched. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Almost half-an-hour later they were leaving the bank, Severus only with the meagre givings of the Hogwarts Fund and Potter with three separate pouches filled to the brim with Galleons and Sickles. 

The boy had calmly worked with Griphook on the moving of funds from nearly a dozen small vaults into his Potter and Black Heir vaults. 

Potter _and_ Black. Severus would surely go insane. 

Needless to say, he was in a rather foul mood for the rest of the day and had even snapped at Perks when the girl had been reluctant to leave Madam Malkins (Potter had orchestrated the buying of a full wizards wardrobe for both himself and her, and the girl had been so fascinated by the displays of silk and lace gloves that it had taken some of Severus’ more barbed words to pry her away. 

Potter had glared at him so venomously Severus was sure he could taste actual poison on his tongue.)

The rest of their supplies were gathered perfunctorily, though Severus could see the spark of _something_ (which was a damn sight better than that irritatingly calm mask the boy always wore) as they entered the book shop. 

But the highlight of their trip happened to be getting their wands. Severus wasn’t so foolish as to get it before they had finished the rest of their shopping, lest the little pests start their foolish wand-waving in the middle of the Alley and set fire to one thing or another. 

Ollivanders had perhaps twenty minutes until it closed, which meant that it was empty when they walked into the dingy little shop. There were lean stacks of boxes shoved into the shelves lining the walls and a winding staircase that led to a higher level. 

Perks squeaked when the man himself popped up from behind the counter, wild mass of white hair in disarray. 

“Ah, Mr Potter. I wondered when I’d be seeing you.” The man’s milky gaze was fixed on Potter’s face, and there was a frown on the old man’s lined face. Severus cleared his throat, eyes narrowed. 

“Yes, well, while I’m sure that you’d like to recount every wand you’ve ever sold we do need to get going soon,” he drawled, drawing Ollivander’s attention. The man broke out into a cheery smile. 

“Oh, Severus! 10 and a half inches, English Red Oak with Dragon Heartstring. Still doing you well?” Ollivander puttered about as he spoke, pulling out various boxes while he set his measuring tape on the children. 

Severus didn’t bother to reply to the man’s question, ushering Perks up first. The first one she tried didn’t do anything, the next two produced feeble dribbles of water and the fourth jumped straight out of her hand. 

By the time that Ollivander pressed the fifth wand into the girl’s trembling hand, Severus was questioning whether she was a particularly powerful squib, but the thought was quashed by a rush of air and heat that swelled from her as she gripped the wand. Light emanated from the girl, making her golden hair shine like gold and blue eyes brighten. 

“Harry, look!” she cried in delight, smiling widely. Potter was grinning beside her, regarding the girl with such fondness. It wasn’t an unusual sight, but the boy seemed to regard her as a father would their child. 

“Well done, Sally-Anne,” he said softly, “You look like you’re going to be a brilliant and powerful witch.” Perks beamed, running reverent hands over her the Ashwood wand, 12 inches with unicorn hair. 

“Mr Potter, come, come. Your father had a wand like this. Mahogany, 11 inches, pliable and very good for Transfiguration, if memory serves right. Give it a swish.” 

Severus watched Potter wave his father’s replica in the air and instantly had to duck as the boxes all rushed from their slots on the shelves. The wandmaker plucked the wand from the boy’s hand, settling it into the case before waving his own wand and setting the shop to rights. 

“Well, perhaps not. Maybe you favour your mother. 10 ¼ inches, willow and swishy. Brilliant for charms.” 

Once again, Potter waved the wand, though he gripped it slightly less tightly than the last one. The vase of flowers in the corner and the stool both exploded and it was only Severus’ quickly conjured shield that prevented them from being impaled. 

The next half an hour was spent trying wand after wand, and Severus had taken to having a permanent shield erected over them. Potter’s magic fluctuated between raging and malevolent to insidious and calm. Any wand with a dragon heartstring in the boy’s hand was a disaster, and Severus privately thought that Ollivander would have to redo the floorboards after the amount of scorch marks it got. 

Finally, Ollivander pottered to the back of the store and returned with a wand, laying it delicately on the table. “This should do it. Holly, 11 ½ inches, phoenix fe-” 

He didn’t get to finish his words, because the wand he’d handed over split straight down the middle and jumped into the hand Potter had hovering over it. Ollivander blinked once, twice, before he looked up at the boy with something like fear in his eyes. 

“Well,” he muttered, stepping back. “Follow me, Mr Potter. It appears that the core has chosen you, but the wood was found...lacking.” To the side, Ollivander pulled out a tray which Severus saw hand various styles of wood. “Now, boy, pick a wood. Don’t worry, you’ll know which one…” 

Again the old man trailed off as Potter went to touch one of the darker woods- Blackthorn, Severus thought- but a pale wand started vibrating and made its way into the boy’s hand. 

Potter blinked down at it, gripping the wand and flexing his wrist. Even without a core, he managed to produce a shower of sparks, though they seemed a little on the weaker side. 

Just how powerful was he? Severus had never heard of someone being able to use just wood as a wand before, and though the magic was a lot more subdued than the others it shouldn’t have been possible _at all_. 

Ollivander was white as a sheet and trembling behind the counter as he looked at Potter, who only glanced up curiously at the man. “Dear Merlin…” the man muttered. 

Severus frowned. Apart from the astounding show of power, there wasn’t much to be shocked over, and it wasn’t so unusual for a custom wand to be made, even if the wood was yew…

The Potions Master sucked in a sharp breath, taking an involuntary step back. It couldn’t be possible. It _shouldn’t_ be possible. No two people ever had... there was no record of such... _it shouldn’t be possible._

“Professor?” called Potter, and he was watching Severus with curious green eyes. Severus blinked. 

“This is worse than I feared, Mr Potter,” intoned the old wandmaker, and the boy’s attention was fixed instantly on him. “That feather gave one other feather, only one, and it went into the wood whose tree also supplied the one you now hold.” 

Potter blinked up at him for a moment. “So...I’ve got the same wand as somebody?” There was a hint of a sneer on his face, and something like disgust on his face. 

“More than that, Mr Potter. Much, _much_ more than that. You have a _twin wand_ in every sense to a man who went on to do many great things- terrible certainly- but great nonetheless.” 

Severus watched the boy’s face, and if he weren’t monitoring it so closely may have missed the slight widening of his eyes and hitching of his breath. His hands fisted by his sides, shoulders stiffening before he took a deep breath in and forced a harsh exhale. 

“I see,” he said simply. “This... _Dark Lord,_ ” he almost sneered. His focus switched from Ollivander to Severus himself, who tensed beneath such a cold stare. “What was his name? The book didn’t want to write it, and I don’t believe anyone- even a megalomaniac like him- would’ve gone around with such a hyphenated name.”

“Voldemort,” Severus muttered after an age of staring at the boy. “He called himself Lord Voldemort.” 

Severus wasn’t a man who liked to admit when he was wrong, but as much as he’d thought the boy to be almost a textbook Slytherin (especially in light of his uncovered Black title) his refusal to bow to the fear that gripped so many others marked him out as Gryffindor as his bloody father. 

“Voldemort,” he repeated softly. “Interesting.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

They arrived back at the orphanage just as the ugly grandfather stationed in the waiting area chimed five. 

Potter smiled slightly at him as they came to a stop. “Thank you for all your help today, Professor.” 

“Yes!” piped in Perks, smiling brightly. “I don’t know what we would have done without you!” Potter glowered at her slightly, and she grinned at him. “But I’m sure Harry would have figured it out.” 

The boy sniffed, turning back to Severus who drawled, “My pleasure. Now if it’s not too much trouble, show me to your room.” 

Potter bristled. “Why?” 

“Because,” he started, narrowing his eyes on the boy, who only mimicked the action and stared right back. “It wouldn’t do for the muggles to get their sticky fingers into your things.” 

Potter continued to stare at him, lip curling slightly before he nodded and muttered, “Yes, they are curious creatures.” He smirked then. “Though I wouldn’t worry about them getting in. They don’t trouble us any more.” 

Beside Potter, Perks’ sunny disposition darkened, smile fading and shoulders hunching. It was like the first time he’d seen her, meek and mild and forgettable. 

Severus’ brow twitched. 

“Show me anyway.” Potter shrugged and turned on his heel, keeping a hand on Perk’s back. Severus followed them up a winding staircase, and he spied some children hurrying into their rooms, heard the doors slam and the sudden silence. 

Ahead of him, he saw Potter’s smirk and the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Here we are, Professor.” Potter pushed the door to his room open, allowing Perks to step in first before following. As he went to enter as well, the sleeve of his transfigured coat caught on the doorframe, yanking him back. A nail was sticking out of the wood frame, slicing his skin easier than a nail should. 

Before he could cast a quick _Episkey_ there was a pulse, not unlike the sensation that ran through him when he’d first sat in the waiting room. It was honey and firewhiskey and smoke and something electric that raced down his spine and caused an... _uncomfortable_ sensation to pool in his abdomen. 

“Are you alright, Professor?” came the timid voice of Perks. Severus blinked, looking down at the girl. She was worrying her lip and kept glancing at Potter before she ducked her head. 

“I’m...fine,” he muttered in reply, absently waving his hand and fixing the rip. 

It didn’t take long to ward the children’s new and gleaming trunks, and he gave them a stern warning about using their wands to cast any magic. Potter and Perks nodded their heads solemnly, and Severus cast one final look about the place before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...thoughts?   
> I hope I've done snarky Snape justice with this, though he might be a little OOC in this fic. 
> 
> On the subject of their wands, I didn't think Holly would suit Hadrian because he won't be on any kind of spiritual quest in this and nothing else really stood out. Also, I wanted him to have another commonality with Tom.   
> Comments and kudos feed my creativity!
> 
> Next time; Albus watches history repeat itself


	6. Setting Up the Board

Severus took a moment to appreciate the emptiness of the winding corridors, the stairs that changed without excitable squeals and suits of armour that stood without utter dunderheads running into them. 

_ Blessed silence _ .

Of course, such appreciation lasted only as long as it took Severus to get to the gargoyles and mutter the password (another unbearably sweet muggle sweet that Severus most certainly had  _ not  _ enjoyed once upon a time).

“Ah, Severus my boy. I was just about to call for you. I need your help-”

“Indeed, Headmaster, but I believe my news to be of greater import than whatever fleeting conc-”

“No, no, this is most severe-”

“Undoubtedly, but you may find it of interest to learn that-”

“Harry Potter is missing!” The headmaster’s voice boomed around his office, causing several leaves of paper to flutter to the ground and startling most of the sleeping portraits. Severus blinked at the man, and opened his mouth to speak again but was cut off. “I have attempted several locator’s charms and they have all been rendered useless. His Hogwarts letter which I left  _ here _ -” he swept his arm out towards his desk “has vanished and I cannot for the life of me remember where it was addressed to.” 

Severus waited for a beat or two after the old man had finished his rant. “Quite finished?” he drawled with a dark brow raised. 

Albus drew his own white brows together in his practised look of disappointment. “Severus, no matter your feelings on Harry’s father I would think you better than to wish any harm upon him.”

Severus waved his hand in the air, brushing the words aside. “Please. If I were in the business of wishing harm on children then the fact would not only  _ just  _ be coming to light.” At that a bemused smile brightened Albus’ face before he set it back into a scolding frown. “If you had deigned to  _ listen _ to me, Albus, then you wouldn’t be half as stressed as you are now. Really, I imagine you would probably be munching away at those infernal sweets.” 

Severus released an almost-wistful sigh as he sat in the armchair in front of the headmaster’s desk. He really enjoyed moments like these when he could lord something over the almost-all-seeing man; they were few and far between enough to be savoured when they could.  Even now he could see the confusion on the old man’s face just before there was a sudden probe in his mind. 

The small smirk on his face dropped into a scowl, and Albus’ own morphed to resemble a chastened apology. The old man sighed and paced over to his shelves to stare forlornly at the instruments he’d long since stopped monitoring. 

“I am listening, Severus,” he intoned lowly, inclining his head even as he kept his gaze on the quietly whirring devices. 

“Well, I spent the most  _ horrid _ day in Diagon Alley today, helping some Muggle-born with their Hogwarts shopping. Absolutely horrifying. There’s a new broom out, you know, and there were all those little miscreants crawling around.... But I did manage to get some good cuttings and the newest edition of Greengrass’  _ 40 New Applications of 20 Old Potions- and How To Brew Them! _ Such a bright child, he was. A shame he didn’t go on to do his Mastery; but then, writing about it is the next best thing I suppose.” 

Severus glanced over at the headmaster and met the deadpan look the other man was shooting at him. He sighed again, suppressing laughter as he continued. “Anyway, it was all frightfully dull. Perks- the girl- will undoubtedly be Hufflepuff, what with the way she hardly draws a breath without looking to Potter for permission-”

“ _ What _ ?” choked the headmaster, swinging around rather fast for his advanced age. 

“Hm? Oh yes.” Severus suppressed a smile, waving his hand in the air lazily. (He was not ashamed to say that he was channelling a little bit of Lucius right then). “It was rather surprising to see him there yesterday when I went to go see the girl.” 

Then he let the air of aloofness drop, turning dark and smouldering eyes to the frozen headmaster. He didn’t even pretend to veil his anger as he snarled, “Who would have thought the illustrious Harry Potter to be living in a muggle orphanage?” 

~~ ~ _ Avada Eyes _ _ ~ _ ~~

“It’s late. Far too late for visitors. Come back tomorrow, like that other man.” The matron’s words were sharp and biting, and there was a look in her eyes that made the ball of dread in Albus’ stomach get heavier. 

“I know, and I wouldn’t ordinarily ask this of you but it is of the greatest importance that I meet with Harry now. I’m sure he won’t mind.” 

Something flickered in her eyes at that and she shifted uncomfortably. “Fine,” she bit out. “Wait here.” 

Albus nodded and sat on the overstuffed sofa, which with a bit of transfiguration was a tad comfier. In the corner, and under a Disillusionment Charm stood Severus, scowling at the door the woman had disappeared through. Curiously, it cleared as she reappeared a few moments later with a child following in her wake. She muttered something to the boy before slamming the door behind her as she left. 

“Ah, Harry! It’s good to see you again.” 

The boy stood there for a moment just blinking at him, and Albus felt a smidgen of apprehension. (Perhaps his robes were too bright? Or maybe Harry didn’t like red. He’d have a tough time in Gryffindor then).

“You’re Albus Dumbledore,” he stated calmly. 

“I am,” Albus replied just as simply. “How did you know that?” 

A small smile appeared on Harry’s face. “I read it in  _ Hogwarts: A History _ . Sally-Anne and I just finished it.” 

Albus hummed, still smiling as he watched the boy. Harry didn’t seem as alarmed as he should be, but Albus noticed that he didn’t take a seat either. He just...stood there, with that pleasant smile and strange calm. Even with the smile, he seemed somewhat apathetic, though Albus couldn’t say precisely how. 

“You must enjoy reading, to have finished it so quickly.” Again, Harry just smiled, shrugging lightly. 

“I read what I can. One of my teachers said that knowledge is power, and I’d like to have as much of that as possible.”  The words were so simple, said so casually that it took a moment for Albus to understand what he was hearing. Power...the boy cherished power. 

The ball of dread turned to lead and morphed into horror.  In front of him, Harry cocked his head slightly before looking away from Albus…

...and straight at Severus. The potions Master had shifted at the boy’s words, and it seemed to have drawn his attention.  “Professor?” This time Albus could hear the surprise colouring his tone just as those emerald eyes narrowed and flicked between the two of them. 

Silence hung heavy in the air, nobody quite willing to break it. Or rather, nobody knowing  _ how _ . Severus sat beside him, and Harry moved over to the seat across and sank into it, making the move look impossibly regal. He fixed Albus with such an intense look that it seemed the very air in his lungs froze. 

“You put me with the Dursleys.” Another statement. Albus’ smile faltered. 

“You know of them?”

A scoff. “Of course I do. I've...done my research." The smile on the boy's face turned slightly sharper, a bit crueler. "The goblins," he explained softly. "They'll tell anyone anything as long as you pay them. We’re not talking about that.” His eyes narrowed some more, feline and deadly and unnaturally bright. “You put me with them in the first place. Why?” 

Albus took a moment to consider how to reply. Would mentioning the blood wards be sufficient enough? Would bringing up Voldemort redirect some of that anger he could feel building up? 

“It was the safest option at the time. There was a certain type of protection there that meant some people who would want to hurt you couldn’t find you.” 

Harry hummed, leaning back into the couch. “What types of protection?” 

Albus narrowed his eyes. “Blood wards. From your mother’s sacrifice. She loved you so much that she sacrificed her life for yours- for your safety.” 

Another hum and the beginnings of a faraway look in his eyes before his gaze snapped back to them. “Why are you here?” 

For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, Albus felt like he was adrift at sea with nought but a plank of wood to keep him afloat. There was no sadness, no yearning, nothing to suggest that Harry felt so much as fleeting fancy to hear of his mother. By all rights the boy probably hadn’t heard anything of Lily Potter before yesterday, and yet he sat there with that calm face and soft voice and brushed quickly over the subject of her death- her  _ murder _ . 

“I went to your relative’s house but they said you’d never lived there, and I couldn’t find you. I was worried.” 

“Worried…” he repeated softly, eyes going fuzzy before clearing. “I’ve never seen you before. Why were you...worried?”

At this, Albus offered the boy a soft, sad smile. “You should have been living with your aunt, Harry. I had no idea that you were here otherwise I would have-”

“You would have come and gotten me?” There was a hint of incredulousness to his voice, and- if Albus wasn’t mistaken- something of glittering amusement in his eyes. Such expressive eyes they were. Albus would attempt some Legilimency, but too early an introduction to the mind arts could create problems with later Occlumency skill- and the boy would certainly need it for when Voldemort returned. 

Silence, again, until Harry broke it. “You said you couldn’t find me.” 

Albus’ brows furrowed. “Yes, I- well, I don’t know why. Something was stopping me.” 

Beside him, Severus shifts, and the dark-haired man gives the equally dark-haired child a weighty look, appraising and surprised. What did the man know? 

There’s a smile on the child’s face, and it’s cherubic and sharp, innocent and predatory all at the same time. “It’s okay, Headmaster,” he says finally, and his voice is like polished steel wrapped in velvet. “People often forget me, or can’t find me, or leave me behind.” He shrugged then, dropping his gaze to his hands which fumbled with each other in his lap. 

A well of guilt crashed through Albus then, as he stared at the boy who was too thin and reedy and short. For all his stoicism and apparent callousness, he was still a child; a child who had been exposed to too much cruelty at too young an age. 

Really, his fears were unfounded. Harry was nothing like  _ him _ . He was young and probably lonely, grew in a world that would rather see him sink than swim, but he would never be like  _ him _ . 

Albus wouldn’t allow it. 

“I know it’s late, my dear boy, but I can’t help but yearn for a game of Exploding Snap. Care for a game?” 

And Harry tore his gaze from his lap, and his ruby lips stretched into another one of his soft smiles and his eyes glittered. 

“I would love to.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, sorry about that. I've had a request to make them longer so it'll take longer to get each chapter written up as well as determine where this story is actually going. I'll probably update this fic maybe three times a week depending on how much writing time I get. Shall we say at the least Wednesday's and Saturday's   
> That said, the next chapter will be quite a bit longer. 
> 
> Next time: Hogwarts


	7. Oh What Tangled Webs We Weave

The platform was unbearably loud. There were people calling out to each other and squeals of welcome, sobs and shouts and  _ noise _ . 

Stood close to the train in a curiously empty part of the otherwise crowded platform stood a family, nuclear, small, powerful. 

“Make sure you write often, Dragon.” Narcissa caressed her son’s hair one last time, barely refraining from enveloping him in a hug. Lucius placed a hand on the small of her back, and she sighed. Letting Draco go was proving to be harder than she’d anticipated- and she’d absolutely  _ dreaded _ this day. 

“I will, Mother,” Draco replied, but his eyes were already scanning the crowds eagerly. Nearby, closer than anybody else dared get to the polished family, two small children in nice robes swept past. From their height, Draco could tell that they were first years like him, and their clothes and trunks seemed almost as expensive as him, but he was sure that he’d never seen them in any of the pureblood circles he’d been frequenting in the last five years or so. Blood traitors then. 

“Do your best, Draco. Study hard and-”

“Network harder. Yes, Father, I  _ know _ .” Lucius hissed lightly at the interruption and sent a small hex to the tip of the boy’s nose. “Ow! Sorry, but you’ve been saying the same thing for  _ years _ . I know.” Draco rubbed his nose as he sent a baleful look to his father, who only sniffed. “Besides, I can’t do any of that if you don’t let me go.” 

Lucius sighed, biting back a lecture on his son’s impatience. He could remember his first train ride, the burning need to prove himself to his father and friends. 

“Draco,” he called, just as his son was ready to step onto the train. Draco turned, eyes wide at his father’s solemn tone. Lucius just offered him a small smile and squeezed his shoulder. “Have fun.”

The blond boy nodded emphatically and bit his lip, eyes watering slightly before he nodded again and got on the train. 

It didn’t take him very long to find Vincent and Gregory and soon they were on the hunt for the perfect compartment. They barely caught Blaise Zabini as he went to close the door to a compartment. “Blaise, wait!”

Blaise paused, glancing over at Draco before a sly grin spread across his face. “Draco, hurry up.” 

Draco sneered slightly even as Blaise opened the door for him and the other two to slip in. Their usual crowd were in there, Pansy Parkinson with her pug nose, Daphne Greengrass with the hairbrush practically melded to her hand and Theodore Nott with his a thick tome in his lap (Draco privately thought the boy had a greater chance of getting into Ravenclaw rather than Slytherin). 

There were two others sat beside Draco, the two he’d seen earlier who he’d dubbed blood traitors. 

“And who are you?” he sneered, straightening as he looked down his nose at them (it was a look he’d practised ever since he’d seen his father run into the head Weasel three years ago). 

Theodore, who’d been engaged in conversation with the messy-haired boy, turned to him with such a look of contempt it made Draco instantly on edge. It wasn’t a new thing, as it was no new news that the two didn’t like each other, and therefore kept their interaction to a minimum. 

Blaise had moved to stand beside him, and Draco noted the wide smile on the boy’s dark face. 

“Ah, allow me to do the introductions,” he started in that horrible showman’s way he’d adopted some months back. “Draco Malfoy, this is Sally-Anne Perks and Heir Potter, Hadrian Potter- _ Black _ . Hadrian, Sally, this is Heir Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” 

There was a beat of silence, and Draco could feel all the eyes on him in their cramped compartment. It was only the knowledge of the staring that kept his jaw from planting itself on the floor are refusing to budge. 

Alas, for all his efforts Draco couldn’t help but splutter “Hadrian…Potter?  _ Black _ ?” 

The boy, with inky hair and green,  _ green _ eyes smiled slightly. “Yes. It was...quite a shock, to be honest. But I suppose it explains a lot.” 

Like his Uncle Sev when he was particularly irate, Draco felt his eye twitch before understanding dawned. “Wait a moment.  _ You’re Harry Potter?! _ ” 

The boy- Hadrian-  _ Harry _ \- sneered. “I’ll thank you to use my full name,  _ Dragon. _ ” 

Draco flushed hot with embarrassment as the others all laughed, fully aware not only of his mother’s fond pet name but his (most assuredly  _ old _ ) obsession with the creatures. 

Potter (because he refused to attach the Black name to this unknown player) smiled, and somehow that softened the blow. He gestured to the empty seat across from him. “Oh come now, I’m only joking. This is my friend, Sally- _ Anne _ .” He sent a pointed look to Blaise, who only shrugged and smiled. 

Perks looked almost pathetic next to Potter, all blushes and averted eyes. Potter laid a hand over hers and she seemed to melt into his side. Daphne, sat next to Draco, seemed to have picked up on it and started brushing her hair again with a thoughtful hum. 

The conversation picked up as the train hurtled towards Hogwarts, the sweets cart coming and going. Inevitably, it turned to the subject of Houses, and everybody perked up at that. “Almost all of us here are practically guaranteed places in Slytherin, of course,” Draco stated, back in familiar territory. He hadn’t yet met someone to be unimpressed with this particular speech. “Well, except for Nott. He’s more than likely a Ravenclaw.” 

The boy in question sneered at him, almost in direct contradiction to Draco’s declaration, but Draco didn’t pay him any mind. He saw Perks shift uncomfortably in her seat, edging even  _ closer _ to Potter. Potter, in turn, ran a soothing hand across her shoulders. 

“Well, it seems money really  _ can _ get you anywhere,” Potter remarked, still in that infuriatingly disinterested tone. A titter ran through the compartment, and Draco recognized it as his peers’ excitement of the upcoming battle of wits. 

The slight hit Draco hard. Who was this blood traitor to insinuate that he, Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy and Narcissa Belinda Black, would have to  _ buy _ his way into Slytherin? Worse still was the bite against his father; everyone and their pet knew Lucius Malfoy had been a wholehearted Death Eater, and it was only the considerable amount of Galleons he’d relieved his vault of that kept him from Azkaban. 

“So where will you end up,  _ Potter _ ?” Draco snarled. Potter flicked his gaze up from the magazine-  _ Potions Quarterly _ \- that he and Nott had been reading. “No Potter hasn’t  _ not _ ended up in Gryffindor, after all.” 

“Ah, but you forget the Blacks have the longest history of Slytherin affiliation.” 

Draco sneered (perhaps his face’d set in it by the end of the year with how much he’d done so in the past few hours). “We’ll see which blood wins out.” 

The compartment fell silent. The unspoken, unacknowledged erumpent in the compartment was finally being addressed, and Draco felt a smug satisfaction to know he’d been the only one bold enough to do so. King of kings indeed. 

Potter closed the magazine and sat back, cocking his head slightly. Draco barely repressed a shiver as the full weight of the other boy’s unsettling stare settled on him. “I’m curious as to what you mean by that, Malfoy.” 

“I mean that Slytherin is hardly receptive to blood traitors and mudbloods,” Draco smirked. Potter was clearly powerful- politically at least, considering he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived- but Draco knew for  _ sure _ that Perks wasn’t a Wizarding name, despite how it may have been mistaken for one. The girl herself was flushing a deep scarlet which attested to his statement. 

Draco watched Potter, who watched him, and everything was silent and still. He didn’t know what Potter was thinking, couldn’t decipher anything from the impassive mask and it was absolutely insufferable. But then the other boy smiled, and Draco almost wished he’d go back to his poker face. 

The smile was infinitely scarier. 

“Funny,” he started softly, opening the magazine again. “Here I was thinking that  _ guaranteed Slytherins _ would know a thing or two about self-preservation.” 

Draco bristled at the thinly veiled threat, eyes narrowed. But the other boy simply turned to Nott and struck up a casual conversation about asphodel and bezoars (which Draco most  _ certainly _ wouldn’t have found interesting).

Slowly, conversation started back up, though it was much more subdued. Pansy kept shooting him significant looks and Daphne had already struck up a conversation with Perks on some edition of  _ Witch Weekly _ . 

Draco could just see the forming allegiances and for the first time, he wasn’t so confident about his. 

~~_ ~Avada Eyes~ _ ~~

By the time the Hogwarts Express pulled up to Hogsmeade Station, the compartment had all changed into their robes (the boy’s waiting outside while the girls changed and then vice versa) and their books and knick-knacks packed away. 

A sea of back robes streamed from the train and into the awaiting carriages and if it weren’t for the mountain of a man calling “Firs’ years! Over here firs’ years!” Hadrian would have walked to one and ridden off. 

As it was, he settled a firm hand on Sally-Anne’s arm and steered them towards where the other first years stood with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Soon they were set off across an inky black lake. Hadrian rode with Sally-Anne, Theodore and Daphne. Of the entire lot he’d ridden down with, they were the most tolerable and Hadrian could see them being valuable allies. 

“It’s so beautiful, Harry,” Sally-Anne whispered, eyes shining in awe as she stared up at the castle. For all his stoicism, Hadrian couldn’t help but agree. He’d seen pictures from various texts of course, but they could never do the place justice. She was majestic, with towers that pierced the midnight sky and fire-lit windows, sat atop craggy earth and sloping mounds. 

The best thing about her was most certainly her power. Hadrian could feel it, like a pulse that rippled through the very air. It was soothing, comforting, and everything Hadrian wanted to be. If he could settle the nerves so effortlessly, lower inhibitions and guards and sneak into a person’s head, their heart, their  _ soul _ …

His thoughts were interrupted by their reaching the other side. The other boats had shrieking children as they worried about falling in and getting eaten by the giant squid. It was only strict training that kept him from rolling his eyes. 

Their group was joined on solid ground by their other half, led by Malfoy. Hadrian had had fun teasing the blond on the train and found it was ridiculously easy to ruffle his feathers. It was clear that nobody had ever dared to before now and even more apparent that the blond didn’t know how exactly to respond. 

It was somewhat sweeter to know that undermining Malfoy’s undisputed standing put him in the running for the top spot. Hadrian had spent too long in the shadows of others and nobody, especially not an entitled git like Malfoy, was going to get in his way. 

Not now. 

They followed the giant- Hagrid- up to the castle where they were received by a tall, thin woman who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. After a brief description of the Houses and the point system, she left. Speculations soon rose about how they were going to be sorted. 

“I hear we have to pass a series of tests to get in.” 

“No,  _ I _ heard we had to solve a set of puzzles then duel  _ Dumbledore _ .” 

“My brothers said we had to fight a troll.” 

Hadrian watched as Malfoy scoffed, turning to the boy who’d spoken. The boy had the most unfortunate shade of red hair and freckles that peppered his face, which was smudged with dirt. His robes were faded and probably four wears away from tattered. 

“It astounds me the level of stupidity they let into Hogwarts nowadays,” Draco said loudly, cultured voice raised. “Though, judging by the appalling hair and  _ poor _ clothes I shouldn’t have expected too much from a  _ Weasley _ .” He spat the name like a curse, lip curling. 

Weasley’s face turned an impressive shade of red in a startlingly short amount of time. “Shut up, you Death Eater scum!” 

The two snarled at each other, fists balled. Hadrian nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Clearly, Malfoy was still angry from earlier and had been spoiling for a fight. Picking on weaker prey had never really been Harry’s style, but he supposed it was only to be expected from these lot. 

“Really, there’s no need for this,” he cut in smoothly, standing between the two of them. He watched as Malfoy’s grey gaze narrowed and his sneer deepend. Hadrian turned his back on him. “I’m Hadrian.” He stuck his hand out to Weasley, who eyed it distrustfully but shook it anyway. 

“Ron Weasley. Hadrian…?”

Hadrian went to answer, but at the same time a shriek rang out. He spun, hand instantly seeking out another and clasping it. Sally-Anne was wide-eyed beside him, and he followed her gaze to several floating spectres zooming out of the walls. 

They put on a show, swooping low and looping through the air while whooping. Hadrian huffed out a breath when he realised that they were simply the Hogwarts ghosts. 

They didn’t have to wait much longer before Professor McGonagall reappeared to escort them into the Great Hall. Once again Hadrian was taken aback by how beautiful the place was; there were candles floating in the air above their heads, though they had nothing on the enchanted ceiling above which twinkled with the stars of the night sky. 

They walked between two of the four long tables and towards the one at the front where all the staff sat. In the centre, in a gilded golden seat sat Dumbledore, smiling broadly at the oncoming wave of first years. 

Hadrian focused his attention back to Professor McGonagall, ignoring the bushy-haired girl who rattled off facts from their textbooks. The tall professor produced a short, four-legged stool and placed it in front of them, setting a tattered hat on top. 

Around him were murmurs of confusion, and Hadrian bit back a smug smile and watched as a seam opened and the hat began its song. 

He would probably have been more shocked than he was (after all, the method of sorting was an unofficial secret held by the entire wizarding community) had he not  _ persuaded _ a shady book dealer in Knockturn Alley to reveal the secret. 

Hadrian wasn’t fond of surprises.

The hall erupted into applause, and he heard Weasley say, “We have to put it on!” which caused snickers to ripple about the student body. 

“When I call your name, come up and sit on the stool so that you can be sorted. Abbott, Hannah.” 

And thus the sorting began. 

Hadrian watched avidly as the hat deliberated for a moment before calling out a House name. Malfoy and Nott were both sorted into Slytherin, as was everybody else in the group he’d acquainted himself with plus a few others. His attention was fixed primarily on those going to Hufflepuff. Sally-Anne would undoubtedly go there and he had to make sure that she’d feel right at home. 

The second Patil sister had been accepted to Gryffindor, and then “Perks, Sally-Anne.” Beside him, Sally-Anne trembled, so he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, sending the pulse of power he’d been using for years as he smiled at her. 

“Go on, Sally-Anne. It’ll be alright.” His smile was cautiously gentle, soft and encouraging in the way he knew got the best result from her. She nodded slightly, gifting him with a tremulous smile as she squeezed his hand one last time and stepped up to the stool. 

Like with Malfoy, the hat barely brushed her golden hair before it bellowed “HUFFLEPUFF!” A loud roar erupted as the Puffs accepted another one. 

Professor McGonagall paused slightly before reading the next name. “Potter, Hadrian!”

_ “Potter?” _

_ “Isn’t that Harry’s full name?” _

_ “Maybe it’s Harry Potter’s secret brother or something.”  _

_ “Is he here? Is Harry Potter here?” _

Hadrian stepped forward and sat on the stool, schooling his face into his default expressionless mask. It took everything in him not to jump when he heard the voice in his head. 

_ “Ah, what do we- oh. Well, if this isn’t a shock.”  _

Hadrian didn’t know what exactly it was that the hat had seen, but he was sure it wouldn’t be the last time he’d hear such words. He was aiming to stand out. 

_ “Are you? My, how time history seems to have repeated itself. I thought it would be much too soon for another one to come through but perhaps…” _

Hadrian bristled at that. Another one? Another what? He wasn’t like anyone else; he was  _ different _ . It’s what he’d been trying hide for a long time and now what he’ll be trying to  _ prove _ . There should be nobody- no, there  _ was _ nobody who could even compare to his power and brilliance, so for the hat to entertain the thought of-

“SLYTHERIN!” it shrieked suddenly, and that did startle him. Hadrian huffed as he pulled the hat off, dropping it on the stool. Then, as he turned to the Slytherin table, he ruffled his hair, as if to fix what the hat messed up. 

The front of the hall gasped, then whispers arose and echoed off the walls as word passed on. 

_ “ _ He’s _ Harry Potter!” _

_ “He’s a Slytherin!”  _

_ “Have you seen his scar? Have you?” _

Hadrian smirked as he took his place beside Theodore. He couldn’t have everyone doubting who he was, now, could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm a day early but I figured I wouldn't have time to upload the chapter tomorrow cus I'm hella busy. I'm busy on Friday and Saturday as well so if I don't find a time to post on either of those days then it'll definitely be Sunday.   
> Have you guys peeped the added tags? Those are because I've written a few confirmed chapters for those pairings. As it stands, unless there's a high demand for a Harry/Voldemort pairing it may not happen. Let me know what you think because I like to plan a good three chapters ahead. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know your thoughts on this chapter. Comments feed my soul


	8. Vim Magicam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I love you guys? Your comments are amazing and feed my soul.  
> Special shoutout to Gallijaw for all of your help. Thanks to them I've got a good portion of this story outlined and I know where we're headed. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter

“Welcome to the House of Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four,” intoned a voice from the shadows that made everyone around him jump. Hadrian could tell from the droll tone and drawl that it was Professor Snape. 

The dour man peeled himself from the wall and swept into the centre of the common room. “I trust that my prefects have filled you in on the essentials for now, but I have little faith in dunderheaded miscreants so listen to me and listen well 

“Outside of that wall, we are one. There are to be no fights, no arguments, not so much as sneering or shunning of a fellow snake. There are plenty others in this castle who wish to make your lives hell and not a single one of you will contribute to that. House unity is your number one priority.” 

The man levelled the group in front of him with a stern stare, pausing slightly as his dark gaze caught Hadrian’s before passing over him. “What goes on in here is not of any concern to me, you can all do as you wish. But be warned that if I _catch_ a single one of you the results will be most unpleasant. Isn’t that right, Mr Prang?” 

Hadrian watched as an older boy, about fourth or fifth year judging from his height, blushed but lifted his chin and stretched his lips into a smirk. “Yes, Sir. Regrowing the fingers you used for potions ingredients was especially playful.” 

Around him, the first years gasped and mumbled in horror, and Hadrian watched the corner of Snape’s mouth tick. 

“Indeed,” he drawled. “You have seven years in this castle,” he continued. “Use it to your advantage. Your future may very well be determined based on everything- and every _one_ Hogwarts has to offer.” 

Another heavy silence before he nodded again. “Bedtime for first years is at nine sharp. When my prefects do their checks they should not find you dallying, Breakfast starts at six-thirty and dinner at five. Do not be late for your lessons. Schedules will be handed out in the morning at breakfast. Prefects, I expect to see you in my office after your rounds.” 

He said no more before sweeping out, black robes billowing behind him as he walked. Hadrian hummed, turning his attention back to Marcus Flint, a prefect, who started showing the boys to their rooms. 

  


There were only six of them in their year, and the dorms were large enough to have plenty more space aside from the six large four-poster beds. Three large beds lined either side of the room, beside desks and a wardrobe neighbouring them. In the centre of the room was a long couch with a low coffee table, and on the far wall directly opposite the door was a bookshelf. 

The room was done up in the House colours, with a deep green for the sheets, drapes and couch while desks were solid mahogany. The walls were also a deep green with silver script repeated over and over again, filling up the walls. 

_Vim Magicam._

Hadrian set about putting his things away, hanging his robes and shirts in the wardrobe and putting his books on his desk. When he was done, he stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth. “Theodore,” he called to the boy in the bed next to him, and he looked up. “Have you read the Charms chapter on jinxes?”   
  


  


The first two weeks of classes proved to be very interesting. Nobody really knew what to think of the Boy-Who-Lived, and it showed in the House dynamics. The older years spoke in hushed tones whenever he was around and often stopped to stare at him as he walked through the common room with Theodore and Daphne (who’d sat beside the two boys as they studied in the library and formed a handsome trio). 

Within their year, Malfoy still battled him for the top spot. The blond heir could always be heard telling some tale or other about his father or the latest model this or most expensive that. Compared to Hadrian’s cool, aloof attitude he practically begged for attention. 

Hadrian was sat in the corner of the common room with Theodore, Daphne and her friend Tracy Davis- a timid half-blood who probably missed out on Ravenclaw by half a hairs width- when Malfoy and his group came through. They were all laughing, and from what he could hear they’d just got done terrorising some unfortunate muggle-born. 

“Alright, _Potty_?” sneered Malfoy as he passed, and Hadrian simply offered the same polite but vacant smile he’d been giving the blond all week and turned back to the discussions of summoning charms. Malfoy had seemed particularly good-spirited, and Pansy Parkinson and Rayne Runcorn were tittering across the room. He had to find out what just happened. 

By morning he’d devised a plan to wring every last piece of information from Malfoy _and s_ ecure his place as the top of their House, and he entered the Great Hall with his permanently affixed smile. A quick glance at the Hufflepuff table showed that Sally-Anne hadn’t gotten up yet, which he thought was weird considering the two of them hadn’t woken any later than seven am in years. He shrugged it off though because Puffs were known to be almost as bad as Gryffindors when it came to tardiness. He made a mental note to talk to her at lunch. 

Daphne flounced in and sat beside him, plucking one of his apple slices from his plate. “I swear, the next time I have to listen to Pansy try to give me _fashion advice_ I will rip her hair out.”

Hadrian laughed, bumping the girl with his shoulder. “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad. After all, fuschia is _so_ your colour.” He laughed harder as the blonde girl threw food at him, dodging it so that it hit Blaise a few seats down as he went to bite into his croissant. 

The dark-skinned boy blinked before turning to look at them, and the smile he flashed was positively wolfish. But before he could snatch some more food, Gemma Farley the female prefect in fifth year levelled them all with a stern stare that cowed them. 

Soon enough they were on their way to Charms, a class they shared with Gryffindor. Hadrian had toyed with the idea of blending into the background, but from the moment he’d heard Granger from Gryffindor regurgitate facts and execute flawless wand-movements then all ideas of mediocrity flew from his brain. 

While the Gryffindor might be brilliant with theory, Hadrian definitely had the monopoly on execution and finesse. The girl was plenty able, and often got spells on her first go, but they tended to be forceful and showy. Hadrian’s were undeniably powerful in the amount of control he executed over them. 

As the Slytherins filed in together, the lions’ whispering stopped before restarting at twice the volume. Malfoy was smirking as he laughed with Zabini, Parkinson and another girl Runcorn, whose father works for the Ministry. Once again the blond boy turned to give him a vicious sneer before focussing on the squeaking Professor Flitwick. 

The rest of the morning passed in a similar fashion, with whispers behind the hand and baleful looks from all Houses, and it was starting to get on his nerves. He’d developed a rather nasty headache in Defense, and the teacher’s illegible stuttering and squeaking hadn’t helped his mood at all. On the way to lunch, he turned to Theo and Daphne. 

“Do you know what’s going on? I would have thought that the talks about me would die down by now.” 

Daphne gave him an askance look. “It’s because of what Malfoy did. Everyone thought you’d be a lot more upset about it than you apparently are.” 

“Upset?” he frowned, wracking his brain. Other than a few sneers and smirks, Malfoy hadn’t dared do anything to him. His wards on his bed and things were perfectly intact as he checked them every night, so he had no idea what she was talking about. Theo looked just as clueless. 

Daphne looked between the two of them. “Are you telling me you don’t know?” she gasped, before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Last night, a little before curfew, Malfoy’s group ran into some Puffs coming back from the library and decided to have some...fun. Word is that he cursed Perks to throw up slugs or something and she’s been in the hospital wing for the whole day.” 

Hadrian felt his blood run cold at those words before an icy fire roared through his veins. He didn’t notice the corridor getting colder. “Theo, tell Malfoy that I will be seeing him in the Trophy Room at midnight tonight. You will be my second.” Theo nodded, face solemn. Just before he left, Hadrian added, “Oh, and make sure the table- and _only_ the table- hears as well. We don’t want him backing out now, do we?” 

With Theo on his way, Hadrian turned and hurried towards the infirmary. 

Madame Pomfrey waved him in when he and Daphne entered, and a curious emotion sat heavily on his chest when he saw Sally-Anne sat pale and withdrawn in the bed. “Oh Sally-Anne,” he sighed as he reached her bed.

She turned to him with wide, watery eyes, bottom lip trembling. Her skin was still red and blotchy with a few boils still oozing on her chin and beneath the issued infirmary gown. He settled a hand on her hair and that was all it took before she burst into tears. His shirt was quickly soaked with tears, his robes creased from her white-knuckled grip, and somehow her sobs vibrated through him. 

He stroked her hair, soft and golden and her pride and joy once she could afford to keep others from pulling it. As she clutched at him, Hadrian swore that Malfoy would pay for reducing her to such a state. 

It had been years since he’d seen Sally-Anne cry like this, and it went a way into undoing all of his hard work. The girl had been even more meek and sad when she’d first come to the orphanage five years ago, an easy target for the orphanage bullies and overlooked by the adults. 

But Hadrian had felt her, had looked at the girl who was sniffling in the corner and knew instantly that she was more than the rest of them- not quite like him ( _nobody_ was like him) but not like them either. Taking her under his wing had been easy, orchestrating it so that when she’d initially resisted the bullying got worse was easier, and keeping her by his side wasn’t a challenge. Hadrian had learnt patience in taking on Sally-Anne; patience and understanding and mastery over himself. After all, how was he expected to control entire legions of people if he couldn’t control himself?

“I’m sorry,” Sally-Anne sniffed, lifting her head from his chest. He just shrugged, flicking his wand and banishing the tear stains. 

“It’s okay, Sally-Anne,” he soothed, smoothing down her hair one last time. She nodded, peering up at him. It seemed she caught the steel undertone in his voice, and while she was usually apprehensive whenever Hadrian decided to teach someone a lesson, this time she silently asked for it. He nodded at her, offering a small smile. 

“I mean it. Everything will be okay.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

The common room was abuzz with chatter when he, Daphne and Theo stepped in that evening, and like with everywhere else that day, there seemed to be an instant lull. 

Hadrian paused and surveyed the room, saw the way certain people sat around fires or desks or shunned certain people. The hierarchy of Slytherin was clearest here, where guards were simultaneously lowest and highest. Sat close to the fire in the furthest corner was Malfoy and his group, and the blond turned to look at the suddenly quiet room. 

“Oh, Potter. I was wondering if maybe you’d run to the headmaster asking to change Houses in order to avoid our upcoming duel,” he called as he and his crew sauntered over. Runcorn and Parkinson laughed, Crabbe and Goyle snorted, and Zabini watched it all with mischievous eyes. 

“Funny, Malfoy, because last I checked my family weren’t the one with the reputation for cowardice,” he retorted casually, flicking away some lint from his robes. Really, the corridors were always so packed that random people were always bumping into him. He’d have to do something about that.

“Gryffindor qualities won’t get you very far in here, _Potter_. I think it’s about time that you somebody put you in your place.” 

Hadrian only smiled softly at that, stroking over the holster that it sat in. “Hm. We’ll see. Try not to spill the beans to a teacher in the meantime, Malfoy. We all know of your family’s _fondness_ for the authorities.” His smile was sharp, and Hadrian knew his eyes had gone cold from the way Malfoy paled and took a stumbling step back. 

“There’s a place,” cut in a new voice, and Hadrian turned to look at Marcus Flint, the male prefect for fifth year. “A place in the dungeons that we use to sort out the pecking order. Be here at ten-to-midnight and I’ll show you the way.” 

“For what in return?” Hadrian asked sharply- because nothing in this world came without a price. Flint grinned down at him. 

“Nothing...for now. But I am intrigued to see the Prince of First Year.” He gave them all one last (mildly intimidating) smile before turning and heading back to his group by the fire. Hadrian hummed again, and without saying anything, led the way to the corner of the room he and his...acquaintances had claimed as theirs. 

Tracy was already there with Milicent, playing a game of Exploding Snap. “Are you sure about duelling Malfoy, Hadrian?” Daphne asked as she sat beside him. “It’s not like you _have to._ In fact, it may be worse for defending a mud-” a sharp look from him and she cleared her throat. “-a _muggle-born_. I’m sure you know all about House politics.” 

Hadrian hummed in response, sitting back on the couch. He _did_ know all about Slytherin House politics, what with how often he visited Knockturn Alley this summer. Sally-Anne hadn’t approved the first time he’d snuck out without her but once he’d brought back some chocolate frogs and _Witch Weekly_ magazines she’d reluctantly stopped complaining. 

Pure-bloods were of the idea that muggle-borns were less worthy than them for the reason that they had no prior magical relation. Voldemort had been of the opinion that muggle-borns were _stealing_ the magic from pure-bloods because as muggle-born numbers rose, pure-blood numbers waned and more and more squibs or ill children were being born.

Simple genetics said that it wasn’t the muggle-borns' fault, but rather the result of continuous in-breeding like the Blacks and Gaunts were infamous for. To Hadrian, magic was magic. Pure-bloods may have family magics, passed from one to another, and may be used to the wizarding world and understand it’s dynamics better, but that was based entirely on the fact that they didn’t know anything else. As long as a person was able to perform magic, they were far better than the filth that was muggles. 

It was, of course, dangerous to voice such beliefs- at least, not yet. Hadrian had to get to a certain status, maintain a certain image before he could start making waves. 

“Hadrian is more than ready to take on Malfoy,” retorted Theo, and Hadrian was somewhat surprised to see the absolute conviction in the boy. “Malfoy is all talk. He knows a few of the more obscure spells, but has neither the patience nor the talent to execute them yet.” 

Hadrian smirked. It seemed his plans were working slightly faster than he’d initially imagined. “Yes,” he added, turning to Daphne. “Plus, he hurt what was mine. That is unforgivable and he will pay in blood.” 

Stunned silence met him, and he couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a smirk. 

“Jeez, Hadrian, isn’t that a little extreme?” asked Tracy, worrying her bottom lip. Beside her, Milicent shook her head. 

“No, this is Old Tradition. Not many stand by it nowadays but, considering the context, it _is_ acceptable. The whole school knows how close Hadrian and Perks are, and Malfoy certainly knows that he’s staked his claim on the girl. Malfoy may as well have hexed _him_ by hexing _her_.” 

Again, Hadrian was slightly shocked. Milicent wasn’t the prettiest girl in their year, with more baby fat on her face than most and an unfortunately hooked nose (as if there was a long, distant relation to Snape) and mahogany hair that hung in tight ringlets. Her eyes were beady but sharp, and Hadrian could tell that it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy of her. 

Daphne’s gaze flicked between Hadrian and Theo before she nodded and sighed, heaving a book from her bag. “Fine,” she huffed. “But if we’re doing this, we may as well make sure we have the best chance of winning. I’m not aligning myself to a loser.” She sent a pointed look at him, and he only laughed. 

Their little group read about and debated over the best defensive and offensive spells to use, with Theo and Tracy digressing into possible uses of runes and wards. 

“Come on, Tracy. That would only work if you’d warded the room _before_ a fight and that’s not very likely in the middle of the war!” Theo flung his arms out in exasperation. 

Tracy wrinkled her nose. “What? Do you think they don’t have strategists in war that determine _where_ they’re going to fight? It doesn’t always just _happen_ , you know. Generals and stuff have to orchestrate it to the best of their ability and to give their people the best chances of winning.” 

“We know that of course,” Theo scoffed in response. “But it’s not really an exact art, predicting where the enemy is going to be going next.” 

“It’s not all that difficult either once you’ve studied them.” 

“People can apparate or portkey anywhere! How are you going to predict where exactly that is?” 

“Uh- does _know thy enemy_ ring any bells?” The others all blinked at her, until Hadrian looked up from his Transfiguration essay. 

“If you know thy enemy, and you know yourself, then you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.” 

Everyone was blinking at _him_ now before Tracy threw her hands in the air. “Thank you! Humans are predictable, pathetically so sometimes and even more so when they’re _trying_ to be unpredictable. If I know that a faction of rebel wizards’ goal is to abolish the Statute of Secrecy, then chances are that they will be targeting areas with the largest number of muggles. The more witnesses they have, the harder it will be for the Ministry to cover up, the greater the chances for people to slip through the cracks. 

“If I can draw runes and wards that implement a wide-area _Obliviate_ with the casting of one spell, and tailor it so that it targets only muggles and only the memories of- say- the last hour, then I can mitigate the damage caused and focus on catching the rebels rather than doing damage control.” 

They all stared at her, the girl with the mousy brown hair, unassuming face and cat-like glasses. Hadrian himself couldn’t but smile, a real, _proper_ smile. “I see big things for you, Tracy,” he murmured softly, and the girl blushed to the tips of her hair. Theo stiffened beside him before huffing and looking at his watch. 

“Hadrian, it’s best we go now. Flint will be here any moment.” Hadrian sighed but nodded, slipping his parchment away into his bag and charming it locked while the others all collected their things. 

This duel seemed to be the first of the year, and from how many others Hadrian could see packing their things and going towards the centre as well, it would be well attended. 

It was only sweeter that the duellists were the Boy-Who-Lived and the Malfoy heir. 

Flint melted from the crowd to lead the way just as Malfoy appeared, and almost the entire House slipped silently from the entrance and deeper into the dungeons. 

  


They came to a portrait of a coiled silver snake, swaying and hissing. 

_“Hatchlings at moonlight? It mussst be a combat ritual. I wonder who will ssstrike firssst.”_

Hadrian frowned at the words and their slightly rasping quality, but since nobody else paid it any mind he didn’t say anything. Flint murmured the password “Vim Magicam” and they all filed in through the portrait once it swung open. 

The room before him was huge and circular, with a long rectangular platform in the centre. Everyone surged forward to stand around the platform, jostling and bumping one another in an attempt to get the best view. 

Hadrian and Theodore walked over to one end, and Hadrian ascended at the same time that Draco had on the other side. Flint was up there too, in the centre. He cast a mild sonorous charm at his throat and spoke. 

“Welcome, House of Salazar Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four, to the first duel of the year!” A cheer went up in the surrounding crowd. Hadrian wondered briefly if they’d had the foresight to erect a silencing charm on the door lest they wake Professor Snape. Another part of him told him that the man already knew. 

“Tonight we witness a duel between Hadrian Potter, Heir to House Potter and-”

“-Heir to House Black,” called Daphne from the side, glaring at Flint. The crowd burst into chatter again, staring wide-eyed at the gleaming ring on Hadrian’s finger before Flint held up a hand. 

“Yes, allegedly, Heir also to House Black, and Draco Malfoy, Heir to House Malfoy. The winner will be First Prince amongst First Years, though we all know of royalty who lost their crowns.” The crowd tittered. “Present your seconds.” 

“Theodore Nott, Heir to House Nott.”

“Rayne Runcorn, daughter of House Runcorn.” 

“Winner is the first to be completely incapacitated. Seconds may intervene _only_ if the other party continues past incapacitation. We will erect the wards and give you the signal to begin.” 

Flint left the platform then, and Hadrian vaguely noticed the shimmery wall go up before red sparks were fired. They bowed to each other, turned and walked five paces before whipping around. 

  


Malfoy fired off the first spell, which Hadrian easily sidestepped. Another, and another, and another, and Hadrian dodged them all. They weren’t half a fast as the bullies’ fists had been when he’d first gotten to the orphanage, and he could tell that his lack of retaliation was getting on the blond’s nerves. 

“Come on, you coward! Or do you just not know any spells?” Malfoy sneered, holding his wand in a vice grip. 

Hadrian just laughed and tossed _Rictusempra_ at the other boy, who erupted into a fit of giggles. The crowd cheered, and a smile ticked at Hadrian’s mouth, which slowed him down from avoiding the _Tarantallegra_. As it was, his leg started twitching but he was able to fix that with a flick of his wand. 

Malfoy had managed to cast a shaky _Finite Incantatem_ and was now glaring at him on the other side of the platform. He shot off a Hair-Loss curse which Hadrian deftly batted away. Malfoy was aiming to humiliate him, and there was little else that could infuriate Hadrian as humiliation could. 

He’d grown bored of the duel at that point, tired of dodging and blocking and banishing, so when Malfoy paused to catch his breath, Hadrian shot off a curse of his own. 

First, it was the Heating Charm, which was just a distraction so that the other boy wouldn’t be prepared to block the Bucktooth Hex careening his way. It hit Malfoy square in the face, and the crowd roared as Malfoy’s teeth grew larger and larger until the blond was wailing and clutching at his face. 

A simple wind charm and the boy’s wand fell out of his hands, and it took only a calmly incanted _Petrificus Totalus_ until the boy was completely incapacitated. 

The crowd was wild with cheering and jeers and shouts, and Hadrian spied money being exchanged and disgruntled but grudgingly respectful looks shot his way. Hadrian waited patiently, not daring to undo the body-bind curse until Flint announced him as the winner. 

“The winner of this duel is Hadrian Potter of House Potter and House Black. He is the First Prince of First Years, all who wish to challenge for the title speak now.” There was only hushed silence. Flint nodded. Then he turned and clapped Hadrian on the shoulder, smiling widely. “I’ll collect on that debt soon enough, Potter.” 

Hadrian simply nodded, turning to Malfoy and undoing the curse. He kicked over the boy’s wand which had rolled to his feet. Malfoy was a state, with teeth nearly down to his chin and hair in complete disarray. His robes were creased, with one of his sleeves torn, and there was a wetness to his eyes that made Hadrian raise a brow. 

Theodore and the others rallied around him then, and he lost sight of the downtrodden blond. “Hadrian, you were fantastic!” 

“I didn’t even know that spell you used for his teeth!”

“How did you dodge all those spells?” 

Hadrian just grinned at them and shrugged, but when he turned to leave, he caught sight of Runcorn and Parkinson whispering furiously into Malfoy’s ears. He had barely a moment to push Theodore out of the way before a sickly yellow spell hit him, and an equally sickly feeling squirmed in his stomach. 

Turning, he retched, stomach cramping and bile streaming out of this mouth before something slimy and fat flew from his throat to _splat_ on the floor. 

A slug. Malfoy had hit him with a Slug-Vomiting Hex. Hadrian’s wand had clattered to the floor when he’d pushed Theodore away, but he looked up into Malfoy’s smug face as the entire room squealed. 

Slowly and deliberately, showing that his hands were completely empty, Hadrian waved at his mouth and the need to retch stopped as abruptly as it came. A flick of his fingers and the mess on the floor was wiped up and another wave of his hand and Malfoy was slamming into the far wall.

Hadrian didn’t take note of the dozens of wide eyes on him or the fact that Theodore had whipped his own wand out and hit Runcorn with an orange spell, simply walking casually up to Malfoy’s struggling figure. 

“I knew you were a sore loser, Malfoy,” he murmured softly, face close to the blond boy’s. Malfoy’s silver eyes were wide open and he hardly blinked at him. “But I had no idea you desired to be an _outcast._ Losing in a duel is one thing, but to curse me when it is over and you have clearly lost?” Hadrian tutted, placing one hand on the wall by Malfoy’s head and the other grasping the boy’s chin. “I’m disappointed.” 

Then Malfoy screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Draco. Poor Sally-Anne. Poor anybody who catches Hadrian's interest.   
> Also, can we have a moment of appreciation for Tracy please?  
> What do you guys think?


	9. What I Am; What I Would

_Here I walk in the black brow of night  
_ _To find you out_

_-Huert to Philip the bastard (King John)_

Severus cancelled the Disillusionment Charm on himself the moment Potter and the rest of the House left the duelling room. 

Draco was still held against the wall by an unseen force, and it took even Severus a while to dismantle whatever the hell Potter had managed to do. 

“What’s wrong, Draco? Are you hurt?” He almost cursed himself for asking the questions, because he'd seen what was wrong, had heard his godson cry out for a brief moment when Potter had pressed his hands into his shoulder before sagging. 

Draco only sobbed, his head hanging down. Severus undid the Bucktooth-Hex, and a quick _Episkey_ fixed the cut on his lip. Draco didn’t move during any of it, at least not consciously as his body still trembled. 

“Draco, look at me.” The blond head rose, and Severus was startled by the size of the boy’s enlarged pupils. “Are you still in any pain?” 

Draco shook his head. Severus sighed. “I ought to assign every single one of you detention. What were you thinking, duelling Potter? Have you no sense?” 

“ _He_ challenged _me._ I couldn’t say no, now could I?” 

Severus grunted. The boy was right, he _couldn’t_ say no. But he _could_ have had his second negotiate something that didn’t result in an actual duel and only tell the rest of the House that they had. From the reports of different teachers, Severus knew Potter was powerful. The boy seemed to have impeccable control over his magic, knowing just how much power to put into each spell and what way to turn his wrist to get the maximum amount of efficiency from each spell. 

Draco had to have known how powerful the boy was as well, so what in Salazar’s name could have urged him to want to take him on? 

“There is nothing for it now,” he sighed, helping Draco to his feet. What’s done is done, and the entire House has seen it nonetheless. It would be difficult to come back from this but not impossible. “You must endear yourself to the boy now, Draco. Show him that you are worth something. With any luck, his father’s arrogance may give way to his mother’s brains and the boy will at least see your family name and choose to keep you about.” 

Draco gave another broken sob, and Severus only sighed again. His words were harsh, yes, but such was the nature of Slytherin House. You couldn’t afford to ignore it. 

“Don’t tell Father,” the boy whispered, his voice softer and more broken than Severus had ever heard it before. Draco was never one to downplay his presence. “Please. At least not until I’ve redeemed myself a bit.” 

Severus shook his head. “Half of polite society will know come morning. It is best your father hears it from you rather than one of his colleagues. At least then some damage control can be done.” 

Draco’s shoulders slumped but he nodded. “Now get to your dorm. Tomorrow will be long and hard for you.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Severus sat at the Head Table at breakfast the next day, sipping at his coffee and eyeing the entrance. The majority of his House was yet to arrive, but when they did it would certainly be interesting. 

Sure enough, the doors opened and dozens of his snakes came through, heads held high and regal. Potter led them, and as he did every morning, he stopped by the Hufflepuff table to talk to Perks. The blonde girl had recovered and was smiling up at Potter with shining eyes. He said something to her which caused the smile to freeze on her face before her eyes roamed over the group of students at the boy’s back. Her smile wavered, but then she squared her shoulders and nodded, squeezing his hand before he swept away. 

The seating arrangements hadn’t changed all too much, though Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Runcorn were all sat closest to the teacher’s table. Potter sat in the centre, Nott and Greengrass flanking him and Davis and Bulstrode across from him. 

There was an energy about them all, bright eyes and sharp smiles and the occasional fluttering hands. Draco entered then, all hunched shoulders and red-cheeked. He walked down the table, curling into himself as the whispers arose and followed him. Just as he was passing Potter and his group, Potter called out to him. 

Severus tensed as he watched the students, saw Draco turn to Potter and Potter say something to the boy before gesturing across from him. Severus sneered. Potter was just like his father, rubbing it in Draco’s face that he’d lost and was no longer fit to sit beside. Was it a genetic default, this apparent need to put others down? Had Lily’s kindness been lost on the boy?

But then Draco nodded and slipped in between Bulstrode and Davis, sat directly across from Potter. 

The entire table went silent, and Potter only offered that same politely vacant smile before he continued with his breakfast. 

“Ah, House politics, Severus?” mumbled Albus beside him, and Severus could only hum in response. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

It being a Friday, Severus had first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins for the first two periods, and he could already feel the headache coming. 

In light of last night, he wouldn’t dare set them a potion to brew. Slytherins already had to contend with their biggest rivals (though he had to admit that it was his snakes that had a tendency to ruin others’ potions) and Draco would have to watch his own House as well. 

The students piled in, Slytherins to the left and Gryffindors to the right. Granger was trying to talk to Brown and Patil about some study or another but both girls were ignoring her and chattered instead about how lovely Potter was to Perks, and were the two of them dating? 

Nott and Davis were arguing over one thing or another, and Severus only barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Filius was surely cheated out of several Ravens this year. 

“Enough!” he snapped and the class fell silent. “Today we will be reviewing your last potion, which was what Mr Weasley?”

“Er, the boils one?” stammered the redhead, stretching at his hair as he looked at his desk partner Thomas. The other boy shrugged. 

“ _The boils one_ ,” Severus sneered, causing the redhead to pale. “Not only are you wrong but you’re too much of a dunderhead to _remember_ the last potion you brewed. I imagined nobody would have a problem with that, considering how spectacularly Longbottom managed to ruin the classroom.” 

His snakes tittered at that and Longbottom went red, hunching his shoulders and sinking into his seat. Patil managed to answer the question right, and just as Severus assigned them the review questions in their textbooks, Granger’s arm started waving in the air. He’d done all he could to ignore it before, but it was starting to irritate him. 

“What is it, Granger?” 

“Sir, we were supposed to brew the _Herbicide Potion_ today, so why are we doing review questions? Surely they could just be set as homework-” 

The entire class erupted into shouts for the girl to ‘be quiet’ and ‘shut her gob’. 

“Well, it seems we have a fellow Potions Master in our midst,” Severus mocked, sneering down at the girl. “Tell me, Granger, what would happen if you were to grind 2 measures of Standard Ingredient and 4 mistletoe berries into a rough powder before adding it to your potion?” 

The girl was flustered, cheeks flushing as her mouth opened and shut. “Well- I...I don’t _know_ but-” 

“Exactly. _You don’t know_. And until such a time that you do, and you have enough knowledge to speak out of turn, I suggest you keep your _opinions_ to yourself. Ten points from Gryffindor for forwardness.” He turned to survey the rest of the class. “In fact, homework due for next lesson; three feet on the difference between roughly powdered ingredients and finely powdered ingredients and their effects on potions.” 

A groan rang through the room, though it was notably louder on the Lions’ side. Severus smirked before settling himself behind his desk and readying himself to mark the sorry excuse for second years’ summer essays. 

They were a bit into the second period when Severus noted that something odd was (if you would excuse the pun) brewing. Potter was sitting next to Nott as he usually was, but Draco was sitting in the next desk closest to him, and the two seemed to be talking about something. 

Draco shook his head but Potter simply cocked his head and the blond’s shoulders slumped. Smirking, Potter turned to the other side of the class, and with the flick of his fingers, Weasley’s spare parchment fluttered to the ground and caught a particularly strong gust of wind that swept it over to the Slytherin side. 

The redhead froze, eyes wide as he looked over to where the snakes all seemed to be scratching out answers. 

Potter gave Draco another significant look, and just as Severus went to intervene (because he would never allow another Potter to get away with forcing other people into things again) Draco scooped the parchment up, marched over to Weasley and deposited it on the table with a murmured, “Here you go, Weasley.” 

Draco didn’t wait for a response, which was good because Weasley seemed too busy with his jaw on the ground. Once back in his seat, Draco looked over at Potter who smiled at Draco. Draco blushed and ducked his head, going back to his work. 

Beside Potter, Nott’s quill snapped. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

They had a staff meeting that night, and it was with a groan that Severus threw the Floo powder into his fireplace and called out for the Headmaster’s office. 

The teachers were all there, and Albus promptly started the meeting. Just like the week before, many of the teachers were praising Potter and how quickly the boy managed to pick up the material. Severus himself only mentioned Davis and Draco’s affinity for potions, omitting the fact that Potter had yet to turn in insufficient work. 

Soon enough it was only the Heads of Houses left behind. “As usual, a few of my Puffs do seem somewhat homesick, but I’ve only Firecalled two families so far. I don’t have problems yet, but Perks does seem a bit withdrawn.” 

“Yes, I had noticed that,” added Minerva, glancing at Severus. He didn’t say anything in response. 

“She seems quite attached to Potter,” mused Flitwick, also looking at him. The man wasn’t a Ravenclaw for nothing and was more knowledgeable on the workings of Slytherin than many others. “I’ve never seen her look quite as animated as when she’s speaking to him.” 

“Indeed.” Albus stroked his beard. “Severus, do you know anything of their pasts?” 

“No, Albus. Potter is very closed off. Polite, almost to a fault, but I know nothing more about him now than I did at the start of summer.” Well, that wasn’t quite true. Last night the boy had showcased his wandless ability and seemed scarily adept at wielding it, not to mention whatever malevolent force resided within the calm facade. But nobody else had to know about that for now. 

“A shame,” the old man concurred, but shrugged, eyes twinkling again. “At the very least it encourages inter-house unity. Why I believe I heard something about young Malfoy assisting the youngest Weasley today?” 

All of the teacher’s brows shot up, and Severus didn’t even try to repress his sigh this time. The entire Wizarding World knew of the blood feud between Weasleys and Malfoys, so Draco’s uncharacteristic display of chivalry had undoubtedly made its rounds. 

(Severus silently took glee in the knowledge that he’d assigned Potter a two-foot essay on third-year material to be handed in next lesson _with_ the standard homework)

“Yes, it is quite true. I don’t believe it to have been anything more than the result of a dare, though, Albus. So don’t go putting them in the same dorm or whatnot.” 

Albus just laughed heartily but Severus didn’t doubt that plans were being formed. 

When he could finally escape back to his own quarters, Severus didn’t hesitate in pouring out two fingers of Firewhiskey and slumping in his seat by the fire. 

Potter was proving to be as troublesome as he’d always known he would be but for completely the wrong reasons. For one, the boy was a Slytherin and fit in with the house of snakes quite well. He’d managed to cultivate the favour of many heirs to pureblood lines and even defeated Draco who’d been guaranteed top spot for their year. 

It would be easy to put Potter’s apparent success in his House down to sheer arrogance. After all, Severus knew better than anyone else the number of things James Potter had gotten away with because of his bravado and bluster and it wouldn’t be too surprising to find the boy had inherited it in abundance. 

But the reality was different. This Potter hadn’t grown in a pureblood household where he was the only child to elderly parents. He didn’t surround himself with people whose main priority it was to disrupt the lives of everyone else in the castle. If Filius and Minerva were to be believed then the boy was an apparent prodigy with wand-work and spell-casting and Severus had to admit that the boy’s proficiency at potion-making was more than satisfactory. With some careful moulding, Severus could see the boy being great. He was already powerful, that much was obvious, but Severus knew that he could shape the boy into being a great wizard of kinds the wizarding world has never seen before. 

Perhaps, he mused as he sipped from his drink, allowing a dark smirk to curl his lips. Perhaps he’d try his hand at it. What better way to get back at his mortal enemy than to shape his son into everything he’d despised?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler, but important nonetheless. What do you think?


	10. Vaulting Ambition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I love you guys. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and see you at the end!

_Art not without ambition, but without  
_ _The illness should attend it  
_ _-Lady Macbeth to Macbeth_

Weeks passed without much fanfare. 

After Malfoy’s foolish challenge, he’d been something of a pariah and Hadrian knew the boy had received a howler for his behaviour. Nonetheless, and despite Theodore’s frequent grumbling, Hadrian accepted the blond into the fold. The older years were still quite cold to the Malfoy heir, and often made snide jokes, but he wasn’t as big a target as he would have been had Hadrian left him to himself. 

Of course, everything he did had some kind of ulterior motive. Nowadays, Malfoy hardly went to the toilet without asking for permission, and while Hadrian had managed to get the boy not to be so obvious with his subservience it was quite evident to the entire school who the leader of the first year Slytherins were. 

With no peers to worry over-much about (apart from Runcorn who had deemed it fit to take up Malfoy’s fallen mantle of his rival), Hadrian turned his attention to the much more puzzling question of Professor Quirrell. 

The man was...odd. It would have been easily dismissible at first but Hadrian was no fool. There were moments during class when a question would be asked (typically on how to repel rather nasty dark curses) when the man’s eyes were clear and grew cold, his voice got slightly deeper and even, and he’d give them some valuable information on defending against the Dark Arts. But after a moment or two, his eyes would cloud again and he’d go back to his pathetic whimpering and simpering. 

The man had a weird aura as well. Now, Hadrian couldn’t really _see_ auras, but he could sort of feel them. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but when he’d gone down Knockturn Alley he’d been surprised at the difference. While there had been some variation in the type of auras on Diagon Alley- usually a bright white to a murky grey- the wixen in Knockturn had been mostly dark grey and black. 

Quirrell’s aura was odd in that it kept shifting. Sometimes it would be on the lighter end of grey before shifting suddenly into a dark and impenetrable black- which was odd because Quirrell himself didn’t look capable of powerful _light_ spells let alone the Dark Arts. 

The class had just filed into another double Defense class, whispering and murmuring about the smell when Quirrell himself swept in like a poor imitation of Snape. Hadrian pointed this out in a whisper to Theo and Daphne but all the surrounding Slytherins heard as well and all giggled. 

Quirrell, in the middle of stuttering about the Verdimillious Charm, stopped and stared at him. “Mr Potter,” he started, his voice suddenly smooth and cold, if not a touch high-pitched. “Is there a joke you would like to share with the class?” 

Hadrian blinked up at the professor. “No, sir. I wouldn’t want to make a mockery of your teaching.” 

The giggles spread then even to the Gryffindor side and Hadrian may have found it harder to fight a smirk if a sudden, sharp spike of pain hadn’t lanced through his head. His scar, which had been painfully prickly before, felt like it was on fire now but he couldn’t show how affected he was- not now in front of everybody. 

His hands were balled into fists in his lap under the table, nails biting sharply into his palms. He squeezed, keeping resolute eye contact with Quirrell until his nails broke the skin and blood welled. The effect was instantaneous. The pain lessened, the tension left his shoulders and Hadrian was even so bold as to smirk up at the man. 

Quirrell’s face took on a strange, contorted look before he whipped back around to carry on his lecture. 

The stuttering didn’t return at all that lesson. 

* * *

Hadrian sighed for the tenth time as they traipsed onto the grounds, ignoring Malfoy’s prattling on about Quidditch. Really, it seemed utterly foolish to willingly put oneself into such a dangerous situation with so little to gain. Sometimes he thought wizards were just as stupid as the muggles and it was a fine reason why he would one day rule them all. 

His musings were interrupted by Madame Hooch who called for order and began the lesson. They were given the basics of brooms and the way they worked, the charms used to ensure they flew properly and safely as well as their required maintenance. They weren’t set to mount the brooms for their first lesson but when she turned her back to show someone the correct method of polishing, Weasley had talked Finnigan into an impromptu game which resulted in Longbottom somehow getting hurt. 

“Enough!” the enraged coach shouted, brandishing her wand and waving it so that all the brooms rose and collected into a pile in the middle. “Granger, escort Longbottom to the infirmary so that Madame Pomfrey can have a look at that ankle. _You two_ ,” she stabbed her fingers in the guilty Gryffindor’s direction “follow me. If I see another person in the air you will find yourself back in London before you can say Quidditch!”

With that, she grabbed both boys by the ears and led them into the castle. Chatter erupted instantly and Hadrian used the opportunity to point out to Millicent, who also happened to be a big fan of the sport, why flying was more trouble than it's worth. 

“We wouldn’t expect you to understand, Potter,” cut in a snide voice, “after all weren’t you raised by muggles?” 

Hadrian grit his teeth as he turned to where Runcorn was standing smugly, holding what looked like a Remembrall in her hand. He didn’t even get to speak, though. “I thought Prefect Flint’s words were quite clear our first night here, Runcorn. Perhaps his lesson didn’t…. _hit_ hard enough?” 

Hadrian watched Theodore as he picked lazily at his nails before honey-hazel eyes flicked to his and held them. They turned then to the girl. Runcorn looked furious but he could tell that she had received the message well. He smirked. 

“Indeed. In fact, why don’t you hand that over? I’ll see to it that Longbottom receives his property.” His smile was fiendish, far sharper than the others had seen outside of the duelling room that night, but he couldn’t bring himself to soften it. Insubordination was unacceptable, especially so early into his term as leader of them all. He wouldn’t let this little pure-blood supremacist sow the seeds of discord. 

“Fine,” she started, but there was a wide smile on her face almost as sharp as his, “ _here_.” She reached forward as if to hand it to him before suddenly launching it into the air. Hadrian watched for a moment as it soared, but the ball was light and the wind was blowing, and suddenly it headed straight for the castle walls. 

It took hardly a thought before Hadrian flicked his fingers and a broom was in his hand and a second later he was in the air. He didn’t allow himself to think about the possible stupid consequences of his actions (whether that be falling to his death or expulsion) and chose instead to do what felt natural. He leaned forward on the broom, tucking his legs in close to the slim wood as he followed the same current of air taking the remembrall. 

They hurtled towards stone, the castle’s walls and stained glass window looming closer, his heart thumping harder. Based on his speed and the angle at which he was flying, if he twisted just a little to the left and tucked his left foot under his right just so…

He didn’t let himself think about it too hard as his right hand left the broom and reached out while at the same time his body spun under the broom. The movement caused him to turn sharply, tail bristles brushing the stone with a few twigs snapping. Blood roared in his ears, adrenaline flooded his veins and he felt _alive_. 

Hadrian could see how it would have played out if he’d turned half-a-second too late, could imagine the splatter of blood and grey matter, could see how his crumpled form would pinwheel through the air to land on the grass below, could feel the horror of his classmates. It all made him feel better, _more_ , because none of that had happened. He was sure that if it were anybody else they would not have made it. 

Mad laughter bubbled in his throat as he floated back down to where the rest of the class was standing with mouths agape before they broke out into thunderous cheers. He settled the broom back onto the pile with the others, smiling widely as a dozen voices called out how amazing that was. 

“That was so cool!”

“You’ll be a seeker for sure!”

“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Hadrian simply smiled at them all, running a hand through his hopelessly windswept hair. He’d have to see if they had any hair products that tamed it because he simply refused to go around with such a mop all the time. Either that or he grew it out, which wouldn’t be too bad. It did seem fairly common among wizarding folk to have long hair, and it would probably even suit him. 

“Potter!” barked a sharp, familiar voice and as quickly as his good mood came it evaporated. Hadrian sighed and turned to Moon, a pretty redheaded girl in Gryffindor. 

“Here,” he said, holding out the remembrall. “Give this to Longbottom for me, will you?” He offered her a soft smile and watched her blush and take the ball, nodding emphatically. With that, he drew himself up and readied for the barrage of insults. 

Despite being in the man’s house and having lessons with him three times a week, Hadrian hadn’t quite managed to figure the man out (the adults at the orphanage had never proved to be so complex. Maybe it was a wizarding thing?). He was clearly Dark, and if the boost to his wards back at the orphanage had said anything then was clearly very powerful. His aura was sharp and spicy all while somehow containing a somewhat honeyed texture. It was like poison thinly veiled as ambrosia. 

Still, the man’s behaviour made no sense. In lessons, he was hawkish and prickly and a plain menace. It was only Hadrian’s steadfast control over his nerves that prevented him from being as terrible as Weasley and Finnigan had proved to be (nothing would ever let him fail as spectacularly as Longbottom did). Potions classes were a lesson in composure and Hadrian had found himself forcing his breathing to slow and his hand to unclench lest some unfortunate accident befall the man. 

There were moments, though, that made him question what the man’s motives were. Sometimes, after he’d handed in a flawlessly-brewed potion, the man would keep him at his desk, bombarding him with questions on ingredients and their properties and various uses. There would be a gleam in his eyes then, something dark and glinting as he asked for alchemical reactions and base tinctures, a lot of the language going over Hadrian’s head. Snape would push, quizzing him until every word that fell from his mouth contained at least six syllables. 

What Hadrian couldn’t make sense of was the man’s apparent resolution to dislike him. There was nothing he remembered doing that could cause the man to be so set in his hatred, and yet the man seemed determined to find _something_ to pull him up on. He’d won more House points than any of his peers, he’d brewed better potions than any of them (apart from Tracy and Malfoy who were also quite proficient) and even helped diffuse arguments between Malfoy and Weasley which would surely have cost them dearly. The Potions Master seemed rather stuck on the idea of sneering at him for no other reason than existing. 

Hadrian _had_ always liked a challenge, though. 

Now he’d just given the man an excuse to dislike him even more and Hadrian wondered if it would be enough for the man to take House points for his blatant disregard for the rules. Would this be the time that Snape let that impenetrable mask of derision and disdain crack to reveal the _true_ emotion? He was practically giddy with the thought of provoking such emotion like anger from the affable professor but had to school his face into a carefully blank mask in the way he knew the professor hated. 

“Professor?” he said in reply. He had considered playing innocent for a moment but knew that it would be useless with Snape. 

“Come with me,” the man ground out tersely, spinning on his heel and re-entering the castle. Hadrian fought to hide his grin and followed quietly. They walked in crushing silence and Hadrian was slightly surprised when he wasn’t led into the bowels of the dungeons for his punishment, but then figured that Snape was probably making good on Madam Hooch’s threat of expulsion and was taking him to the headmaster. It would be a good way of pushing him (again) while remaining perfectly passive (after all, he’d just be following the terms Hooch had laid out; nothing more, nothing less). 

Hadrian had something of a tentative relationship with Dumbledore and it was painfully clear that the old wizard had had plans for him when he came to Hogwarts. Somehow his being in an orphanage was an unforeseen circumstance and while Hadrian certainly wouldn’t reject the extra leeway it gave him, it made him suspicious of the headmaster’s interest in him. 

Malfoy had regaled them all with tales of his father’s time at Hogwarts and Hadrian was fairly sure that he’d mentioned the headmaster’s office being guarded by a gargoyle of some kind, yet Snape had led him to a door that looked no different than any other. The room, though, wasn’t like the others. 

For one, the chairs were replaced by plush seats that were arranged around a low coffee table. The second thing Hadrian noticed- couldn’t _help_ but notice- was the floating tea tray pouring steaming tea into delicate cups and cakes slicing themselves. There was a fire in the corner that warded off the impending autumn chill. 

Hadrian blinked in surprise as he looked around and in a rare show of incoherency, mumbled “Erm…” Apparently it wasn’t too quiet for Snape to catch and the man’s lips twitched into a smirk. Hadrian scowled. 

“Flint,” the man barked in his usual brusque manner to the boy standing by the tea-tray and stuffing his face with cake. The fifth-year startled suddenly, choking on his food. Snape rolled his eyes, sitting in the chair closest to the fire. 

“Professor,” Flint choked out, coughing to clear his throat. “Have you told him yet?” 

“No.” Snape turned to Hadrian then and in the same monotonous drawl said, “Potter, you will be the new seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team.” 

“What?” Hadrian spluttered, taken off guard (he resolutely ignored Snape’s growing grin). “No, thank you. I don’t fancy becoming little more than jam for others' _amusement_ ,” he sneered, but Flint only laughed (which prompted Hadrian to contemplate if he could get away with making the other boy choke- _again_ ). 

“Higgs isn’t all that bad but you’re better. A _lot_ better.” The other boy’s insufferable smile was fixed in place and not even Hadrian’s particularly vicious scowl could remove it. 

“I thought self-preservation was a highly-vaulted trait in Slytherin?” he murmured, shaking his head. “As flattered as I am by the offer, I’m not doing it. I’ve never been one for sports, anyhow, and have more important things to occupy my time-”

“Remember that favour?” interrupted Flint, and Hadrian’s mouth snapped shut with an audible snap. He glared at the older boy, teeth clenched and fists curling. How dare he? Didn’t Flint understand he wasn’t bothered with joining some stupid _team_? He didn’t want teams, didn’t like them. He was better than anyone they could place him with, anyway, and other people hadn’t proved to _not_ hold him back. They were good as minions, brilliant as puppets (but only with careful manipulation) but they were useless to work _with_ him. 

Snape made a sound then, something like a grunt and a chuckle that made Hadrian’s burning gaze snap to him. The man held the stare, eyes narrowed as they glinted in the firelight. There was a challenge in those depths, a dare that Hadrian longed to rise to. He knew he was powerful, had known for _years_ that he was better than anybody he had ever before come across. But now, here, in a world of spells and magic, of self-serving tea trays and moving portraits, he’d have to _prove_ it. It wasn’t enough to harbour the knowledge himself. Others needed to see, needed to witness his greatness, his _power_. 

Hadrian lifted his head, sniffing. “Fine,” he grit out. Quidditch seemed to be a fairly popular sport in the wizarding world, and it couldn’t possibly harm his standing to be chosen for the team (he was sure Malfoy had said something about team members being chosen from their second year up). 

A slow smile curled his lips, and he hardly noticed the same occurring on the dark-haired professor’s. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

As predicted, the news spread about the school almost before dinner. The Great Hall’s usual cacophony of noise had swelled to almost twice it’s volume when he’d entered with Flint, looking over the prefect’s slightly battered edition of _Seeker’s Weekly_ Admittedly, that could have as much to do with the dozens of floating carved pumpkins as it could with his appointment as the Slytherin Seeker. 

There were platters of sweets, chocolates and all manner of stomach-churning, teeth-rotting confectionaries. The smell was somewhat sickly and almost enough for Hadrian to turn and walk straight back out.

(The raven-haired Slytherin had completely forgotten that it was Halloween. Where had the past month gone?)

“Harry!” called a high-pitched voice that Hadrian placed instantly. He pushed aside the annoyance that rose at the use of that common shortening of his name (Hadrian was _much_ more regal than the common Harry was) and turned a soft smile to Sally-Anne as she bounded over. 

“Sally-Anne,” he smiled, reaching out a hand and smoothing down her arm. Her smile brightened as she pressed closer to his side. 

“Is it true? Did you manage to get onto your House team? As a seeker?” 

Hadrian chuckled, glancing amusedly at Flint who only beamed proudly at his other side. The smile was still tinged with that slightly intimidating edge but Hadrian knew by now that the older boy wouldn’t actually _do_ anything. “Yes, it’s true. Word does spread fast, doesn’t it?” he murmured back in reply. 

Sally-Anne squealed, giggling as she threw her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe it! Congratulations! _Witch Weekly_ says that seekers are the most important players and have a history of being hopelessly handsome too!” 

Hadrian ignored Flint’s mock-outraged _“Hey!”_ in favour of offering her another indulgent smile. The golden-haired girl (because Hadrian had always thought her to be more than just _blonde_ ) prattled on about more things that waste of a rag she read wrote about, but he wasn’t really listening. He knew he had chosen right, all those years ago, when he’d made it so that she had nobody else but him. Sally-Anne had always known the right thing to say to him that made him make the right choice, had something about her that encouraged him to push boundaries and _take_ \- simply because she wouldn’t. 

Sally-Anne relied heavily upon him emotionally, mentally, physically; so much so that he often felt more like her father than the brother-sister bond they’d fostered. She was such a timid thing, strong when her morals were pushed but otherwise hardly more than a doormat. Hadrian had recognised her magic then, when she’d been crying in the corner, and he knew that because he was better than the others- because she was a little better than them too- it would be down to him to make sure that nothing ever happened to them. Sally-Anne gave him someone to protect, a reason to be crueller than he’d ever seen necessary (the others had long-since learned that he was not one to be messed with). She hadn’t always agreed with his methods, but at the end of the day the two of them stood united against the filth that was the muggles surrounding them.

Hadrian drove such thoughts to the back of his mind, smiling as he rested a hand on Sally-Anne’s shoulder. “You should go back to the Puffs, Sally-Anne,” he suggested softly, barely letting any of his magic pass into her before she nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, you’re right, I just...I’m so happy for you Harry!” She flung her arms around him again, and whispered in his ears, “You’re already doing what we’ve said we would. You’ll be so powerful.” 

He barely restrained a content purr at her words, squeezing tighter before letting go. _This_ is what he meant. It must be a gift for the girl to know exactly what he needed to hear. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sally-Anne.” She waved and bounded off, all gold and bright and smiles. 

“Well, I think a few girls are going to be quite crushed.” Hadrian pointedly ignored Flint, who only chuckled as the two of them set off for the Slytherin table. 

The reaction there was tamer than Sally-Anne’s had been, but only just. Malfoy seemed to forget all about decorum as he waved his hands about and spoke about seeker manoeuvers and Quidditch teams and broom models. Millicent joined him and the two spoke exclusively about nothing else, joined occasionally by Zabini, who had taken to sitting beside Millicent at meals. Daphne and Tracy were talking about their classes and Hadrian overheard something about Weasley being mean to Granger after Charms which caused the girl to run crying to the toilets but dismissed it instantly. The girl had potential, but he wasn’t prepared to undertake all the work it would require to get her head out a book and into the real world. 

“You’ll be the youngest seeker the school has ever had, you know,” said Theodore softly in his ear. Hadrian glanced at him, amused. The boy was proving to be his favourite amongst them all, and he looked forward to seeing what the boy could offer. 

Hadrian opened his mouth to reply when the doors to the Great Hall slammed open and in hurried a pale and shrieking Quirrell. Hadrian couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but the man stopped at the front of the hall, eyes wide. Dumbledore stood, the hall falling silent. 

“Troll in the dungeon!” he squeaked, swaying. “Thought you’d ought to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it wasn't super long or super important but first year is mostly about showing you guys who the main players are (at least, at this stage). I'm aiming for first year to end in the next few chapters (hopefully no more than chap 15) so we can delve into the really juicy stuff. 
> 
> Let me know what you think?


	11. True Measure Of A Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo is sensible and respectful and smart. He is also a Slytherin. Is it a surprise that he follows Hadrian unquestionably?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are once again, my lovelies. Hope you enjoy the chapter and see you at the bottom!

_I cannot delve him to the root  
_ _-Two Gentlemen on Posthumus (Cymbeline)_

Theo had always considered himself as a smart boy. His father had never heard any complaints from his tutors and more often than not he could be found in the library with his nose buried in some book or other. Estevan Nott was a solitary man, and Theo often thought that if it weren’t for the pure-blood ideal of carrying on the bloodline his father would have been perfectly content to sequester himself to his workroom in the basement and tinker to his heart’s content. Still, all of this to say that Theodore Nott was a bright boy, somewhat wise beyond his years, with a healthy respect for authority. 

Which is why it would surprise everyone to see him racing through the corridors of Hogwarts hot on the tails of one Hadrian Potter and towards what, he was sure, would undoubtedly be certain death. 

The Headmaster had ordered prefects to take all students to their dorms, but Professor Snape had overridden that command for his snakes and Hufflepuff in light of the fact that their common room was in the dungeons- the very same dungeons where a raging troll now tramped through.

(Did the Headmaster want to get rid of them all at once and blame it on this creature or what?)

Hadrian had hardly waited until the Potions Professor had swept out before jumping to his feet and slipping out from the doors a lot of the professors used when the main entrance was too full. Theo didn’t even know how Hadrian knew where it led, didn’t know what he was following the other boy towards. He only knew that he needed to follow him and prove conclusively that he was more worthy than the others. 

Theo had first felt it on the Hogwarts Express. He’d resigned himself to hours worth of mindless chatter going on around him as he tried to concentrate on his latest potions magazine when there’d been something like ambrosia sparking down his every nerve ending. It was hard to describe the sensation, as heady as it was terrifying, as seductive as it was threatening. It reminded him of the time he’d gone on holiday years ago with the Malfoys (his father had been trying to coerce Lucius Malfoy into funding some project or other). 

The sea had been so vast and big and Theo had been standing, staring out into its crashing waves for hours before he’d been found by a flustered house elf. There was something beautiful in how powerful the waters were, something that made him feel small and awe-struck knowing that if it ever turned its powers on him he’d be hopeless to escape its icy clutches. 

It was the same with Hadrian. The boy had such a presence, something about him that drew Theo ever closer with the promise of getting burned or drowning or being swallowed whole. The other boy was like a force of nature, inevitable and useless to fight against. Theo had read about the sublime before, had indulged quite a bit in Romantic poetry and literature and art, and he’d never related to the mournful sods more than when he was with Hadrian. 

He had been the first person Hadrian had spoken to, in the compartment. Blaise had already been prattling on about some fashion trend with Parkinson and Daphne had grown bored of them all and turned her attention to her own magazine while absently brushing her blonde tresses. It had been a bit of a shock to see the somewhat lanky figure standing in front of a golden-haired, shrinking girl. “Hello, can I sit here? All of the other compartments have proved to be...unsuitable.” His enunciation was flawless, with the sort of indistinctive air that made it hard to pin down where exactly he was from. 

They’d all waited for Daphne to speak, as hierarchy dictated. The blonde girl had scrutinised him with sharp teal eyes, hands never ceasing their repetitive strokes over her tumbling locks of hair. “And who would you be?” she asked, not unkindly. 

Theo had watched, mesmerised, as a smile graced the boy’s face and felt all the breath in his lungs freeze and turn too heavy to expel. The boy glowed, or- no, he didn’t glow, but rather the air around him seemed to grow _dark_. It was like a vignetted film had been superimposed over Theo’s sight and all that remained important was the boy with the soft and dangerous smile and the power that wrapped around him like a well-worn cloak. Theo’s magic-sensitivity had never reacted so violently to anyone before, not even Professor Snape who he’d seen once at one of the pure-blood functions his father had dragged him to years ago.

“Hadrian Potter-Black,” he’d said, taking a step forward and grasping Daphne’s outstretched hand. Theo had heard Parkinson’s startled snort at the boy’s name and saw Blaise eye him in that hauntingly familiar way that suggested mischief of some kind. Just as _Potter-Black_ ’s lips were about to brush Daphne’s knuckles, he smirked. “Though, I am more commonly known as Harry Potter.”

None of them had been able to keep in their shock, though Theo was pleased to say that he’d exhibited no more than the silent widening of his eyes. Parkinson had gasped out loud while her hand flew to her mouth while Daphne had gone stock still and Blaise let out a bark of laughter. Potter (because Theo wasn’t quite convinced that he _was_ a Black) didn’t seem at all fazed and instead waved for the girl behind him to come and sit. 

They found out that the girl was a muggle-born and Theo probably wouldn’t have remembered her name if it wasn’t for the obvious affection that Potter held for her. 

He wanted to know what she had done to earn all the reassuring brushes, the small and soft smiles and softly-spoken words of encouragement. It seemed strangely intimate to watch the two of them interact. The girl (he must remember her name if she holds Potter’s favour so) seemed inclined to trying to mould herself to the boy’s side and the only thing that kept Theo from throwing her the stink-eye was the fact that it meant Potter was being pushed slightly against _him_. 

For every point of contact that Theo had with Potter there were sharp shocks of electricity that raced over his skin and sank into his flesh. Theo imagined it like the first flickering sparks of a flame, hissing and crackling- it was only a matter of time until they were fanned into larger, untameable things that burned anything in its way.

Parkinson had settled on snubbing him and Theo would have felt sorry for her if she wasn’t such an insufferable toad. Her nasal voice pricked in the air, poking at Potter’s claim to the House of Black. Truthfully, Theo wanted to know as well, but the crass way she went about it would not brook her any favours. 

“My godfather was Sirius Black,” Potter stated simply, ignoring the way everyone flinched. “It turns out he did a Blood-Adoption Ritual with my parents and named me his heir.” He offered them a thin smile that Theo just _knew_ was the furthest thing from polite. “I suppose it went some way in convincing them of his loyalty.” He’d opened his bag then and pulled out an edition of _Potions Quarterly_ that Theo himself had been wanting to get his hands on so he couldn’t _not_ gush about the newly discovered uses for horklump juice. 

Then had come Malfoy. Theo had never had a very good relationship with the pompous blond who seemed more inclined to show off whatever new gismo his precious _father_ had gotten him than use the thing between his ears. Really, Theo knew some of his animosity towards Malfoy he’d inherited from his own father- Estevan Nott had despised how easily Lucius Malfoy had escaped Azkaban while it had taken almost every favour the older man had to get himself off, and even then the Ministry had taken nearly half of the Nott wealth. Malfoy senior had gone around with claims of the Imperious Curse while his son swanned around in just as pretentious a manner as his father with his pointed nose stuck in the air. 

Blaise had donned his showman’s voice (the Italian had snuck into a Muggle fair last summer and seen the pitiful display they claimed to be magic. Ever since he’d gone around with an unnecessarily loud and deep voice) as he introduced Hadrian and Perks. Malfoy had hardly spared him a look which wasn’t unusual as their dislike for each other was mutual, but Theo knew his glare was that much fiercer because of Hadrian. It was a very big possibility that the boy would see Malfoy with all his glitz and glam and fall prey to the same thing that everybody else in their circle did. Theo didn’t have much to offer in comparison to the blond boy, but he liked to believe his whole-hearted support meant much more than Malfoys and their hedging. 

All of his fears dissolved into nothing once Malfoy and Hadrian started interacting. There was clear contempt in Hadrian’s vacant smiles and unimpressed distaste in those shimmering green eyes. The verbal spar had only cemented Hadrian’s place in Theo’s mind and he’d known before they’d even set foot in Hogsmeade that he’d follow the boy and prove to everyone that not only would Hadrian be the most powerful wizard of their time but _he_ would be the smartest and most highly favoured for being the first to spot it. 

(He’d had to pull out his most Slytherin of diplomatic skills in convincing the hat not to put him in Ravenclaw)

Hadrian’s power only seemed to be increasing with the more time he spent in Hogwarts. At first, Theo could only feel the other boy’s magic sporadically but the moments the other boy let it free, it seemed all Theo could do to not...do _something_. There was always such an energy around Hadrian that Theo found addictive, an air of calm and tranquillity and fatal relaxation- it was utterly baffling and arousing at the same time. 

It was for that sole reason, he had decided to settle on, that he followed the raven-haired boy to the girl’s bathroom closest to their Charms classroom. Realistically, Theo knew that the troll couldn’t possibly be anywhere near the classroom and that it was very likely that the teachers had found an incapacitated it by now (they had Dumbledore, McGonagall _and_ Flitwick. Theo had read about the half-goblin’s glory days as a globally-renowned duellist) so they weren’t likely to get hurt or caught. But still, there was apprehension clenching his stomach and sweat gathering on his brow while Hadrian strode purposefully down the corridor with hardly more than a ticked brow. 

(Theo vowed that some day he’d be as controlled as Hadrian always was)

Of course, the sight that greeted them did absolutely nothing to assuage his fear. Rather, Theo was glad he’d gone to the bathroom just before dinner because the sight of a growling troll dragging its massive club into the girls’ toilets was enough to make him piss himself. 

“We can’t go in there,” he blurted out, grabbing at Hadrian’s sleeve. Hadrian paused, turning to him with a raised brow that made Theo blush and release his robes. Still, he took a step back, shaking his head. “We..it’s a _troll_. A full-grown, feeds-on-little-humans _troll._ ” 

Hadrian cocked his head as he watched him, prompting the blush Theo knew to be staining his face to darken. He wasn’t used to such intense scrutiny. His father hardly made time for him at home and all of his tutors barely remembered his name. Being the only one under Hadrian’s acute gaze was wreaking havoc on his already-frayed nerves. 

Then there was a scream, high and loud and desperate, but Hadrian just continued to watch him. Theo’s anxiety had reached its peak by now and it was all he could do not to break down right there and then. “ _Hadrian!”_ he hissed, hoping to prompt the boy into action. Still, Hadrian just watched him.

“Will you come with me?” he asked simply in the same way he asked for the pumpkin juice at meals or for Tracy to look over his potions essays. Theo blinked at him, stumped, but maybe it was the fact that Hadrian was _asking_ or that it was _Hadrian_ asking, but he found himself nodding along. Hadrian offered him a smile, like the ones he gave Perks, and Theo’s stomach flipped. 

Hadrian held a hand out so that Theo could walk ahead of him, which he did on shaking legs. The door to the toilets was lying in splinters on the ground and the troll was lifting its club over its head and bringing it down on the cubicles. 

Another loud scream and the wall of a stall crumbled beneath the blow, revealing a cowering Granger huddled atop a toilet lid. The girl caught sight of them and Theo hardly thought before slashing his wand through the air and shouting _“Bombarda!”_ at the row of sinks. Porcelain flew in every direction, but it served its purpose of momentarily distracting the troll, enough for Theo to shout at Granger who was _still not moving!_

“Get the hell out of there Granger!” he screamed at her, backing into the doorway. He caught sight of Hadrian, lounging against the wall, expressionless, watching him with radiant eyes. Granger squeaked as she rushed past the troll, crashing into Theo and holding onto his arm. He didn’t even have time to shake her off because then the troll was turning and staring straight at them. 

Theo looked to Hadrian, who pushed off the wall and nodded at him, smiling. Then the other boy turned his green gaze towards the drooling creature towering over them and lifted his wand. It was like watching charmed instruments play, the way Hadrian wielded magic. He conducted it flawlessly, weaving it in seamless loops and spirals and coaxing it to do his bidding with hardly any effort. Theo supposed it was probably more for Granger’s benefit that he even said the spell aloud, calling softly “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” 

Hadrian’s cast was as well-executed as it had been in class on the feathers and he watched the troll’s club float above its head before colliding with the thick skull. It wasn’t a hard hit, but Theo reckoned it took a lot to cast on something so heavy. It would probably take a few times but Hadrian would manage to knock it out...eventually. 

But, to his astonishment, Hadrian let the club drop to the floor. Granger made a strangled noise in her throat as the troll shook its head, stumbling around blearily. Hadrian just smiled and ignored Theo’s panicked call of his name before casting again. The spell was advanced, more in the region of fifth or sixth year according to their textbooks, but Hadrian managed it as flawlessly as any other. Water erupted from the end of his wand in powerful spurts, swirling and wrapping around the troll’s head.

It roared (or would have if it hadn’t been completely surrounded by water) and thrashed its head from side to side but it was useless. The water was everywhere, going up its nose and into its mouth and ears. The pressure must have been extreme, the slow sensation of drowning agonising, but Theo couldn’t look away even when the troll gave a final thrash of its head before crashing to the floor. 

As soon as the body hit the ground, Hadrian let up on the spell, soaking the floor in his conjured water. No sooner had the final splash landed against Theo’s feet before there was the sound of several pairs of feet against the floor. 

Professor McGonagall was the first in and she froze in the doorway. They must have made quite a sight, three wide-eyed first years (though Theo was entirely sure that Hadrian’s was put-on) stood in front of a drowned mountain troll. She didn’t seem to know what to say for a moment but when Professor Flitwick came, and then Professor Snape, she quickly found her voice. 

“What on _earth_ happened here?!” she demanded in a curt, slightly shrill voice. Theo opened his mouth to answer but found his throat closing up. The terror that had fled when Hadrian had asked him to come had returned tenfold, and he found himself shoving his hands in his pockets so that nobody else noticed how they trembled. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Hadrian placed a calming hand on his shoulder and responded in an even voice. “We realised that Hermione hadn’t been at the feast, so she wouldn’t know about the troll. Professor Quirrell said that the troll was in the dungeons and we thought that with all of the teachers _and_ the headmaster after it, there was no danger in coming to the _third_ _floor_.” 

Theo noticed how the professor’s cheeks all darkened, McGonagall shifting and Flitwick clearing his throat awkwardly. McGonagall, ever the Gryffindor, narrowed her eyes at them, drawing her shoulders back. “Miss Granger?” 

Granger bobbed her head, her thick hair floating in the air at the movement. “It’s true, Professor. If Hadrian and Theodore hadn’t come to help me then I...I would…” she sniffled, curling her hand tighter into Theo’s arm. She didn’t seem to notice the irritated glare he shot her, but Hadrian’s smirk told him that he’d seen. 

“How on earth did you defeat a fully grown mountain troll?” squeaked Flitwick, watching them with wide and impressed eyes. 

“Theo distracted it and we knocked its head with its club,” answered Hadrian before either Theo or Granger could respond. He pointed to the club which laid beside the downed-troll’s body. “It fell into the sink and- it, well…” he trailed off, waving his arms around the destroyed girls’ bathroom. The mess spoke for itself, at least, for the adults. If the troll had been knocked on the head hard enough for it to be dazed then it was likely that it fell back dizzily into the sinks which caused the water to gush from the pipes. 

Neat and believable. 

The Scottish woman stared hard at them for another moment before sighing and nodding her head. “Very well. Ten points to Slytherin each for Mr Potter and Mr Nott for coming to the aid of a fellow student. Now come, Miss Granger, it’s best you get to the infirmary. Severus, I believe I can leave these snakes in your capable hands.” 

She didn’t wait for the man’s response before placing a hand on Granger’s shoulder and towing her away. Flitwick squeaked something about dealing with the body while Snape muttered for Theo and Harry to follow him. 

As they were led into the bowels of the dungeons, Theo thought that they had well and truly gotten away with it. McGonagall- perhaps with the fiercest suspicion of Slytherins of all the staff- had awarded them House points of all things and Flitwick’s sharp mind hadn’t picked up on Hadrian’s lie. Maybe their limping professor would let them get away with trashing the girls’ bathroom and then murdering a troll in it. 

“I was of the impression,” Snape drawled suddenly as they swept _past_ the entrance to the common room (dread settled in Theo’s stomach) “that the two of you were sorted into Slytherin, _not_ Gryffindor.” Theo could barely restrain the noise that emerged from his throat and choked on it instead. 

Hadrian, similarly, recoiled with a deep sneer on his face. 

Snape pushed open the door to his office, pausing momentarily to whisper the password. He directed Theo and Hadrian to sit in the hardwood chairs in front of the desk while he sat on the other side of it. It was exactly as Theo had always imagined chastises from teachers to go, and felt a deep flush stain his cheeks. Beside him, Hadrian looked as unruffled as ever, though his nose was still wrinkled from the earlier slight. 

“I cannot fathom a reason why two Slytherins would go out of their way, _into_ danger, to battle a fully grown mountain troll who could pop the both of your air-filled dunderheads in seconds.” Theo’s flush persisted at the verbal thrashing and he tried to distract himself by noting how Snape applied the use of his favourite insult _dunderhead_ differently than he did in classes. Theo had noticed how people revert back to what they’re used to when put in uncomfortable situations. Was Professor Snape _nervous_?

“None of the adults were in the hall with us when we noticed that Granger would have no idea what was going on. Plus, I really didn’t think the troll could get past all of you so easily.” Hadrian’s voice was as plain as ever but the accusation was sharp and Theo watched the snarl rise to their Head of House’s lips. 

“Funny, I wasn’t aware you possessed the capability to _think_ , Potter.” 

“Funny, I wasn’t aware that you were more unobservant than Weasley, _Professor._ ” 

Theo watched the two glare at each other, glittering green eyes meeting gleaming dark ones without fear. It went on for a while, the silence swelling heavily. Nobody spoke and Theo tried hard not to fidget but then a dark smile was curling at the corner of both their faces which- frankly, it terrified him. 

“I- we...I mean-” Theo cleared his throat and willed his voice not to warble so horribly this time. Stuttering in front of the intimidating Snape and equally intimidating Hadrian would achieve nothing but contempt and disgust. “We’re sorry, Professor. We didn’t do this with the intention of getting into trouble. Our only aim was to aid a fellow student and raise Slytherin’s standard amongst our schoolmates.” He’d added the last part because the comparison to the House of lions still smarted. 

Snape’s gaze snapped from Hadrian to lock onto him, which he was simultaneously grateful for and horrified by. The man nodded, before sitting back in his seat. “Back to your common room. I expect the both of you to be here at nine-thirty sharp tomorrow morning.”

“But it’s Saturday!” Theo blurted before he could stop himself. Snape only levelled him with a stern stare which made him slump and stand. “Yes, Professor.” Hadrian rose with him but said nothing, only huffing slightly. 

But then Snape spoke again, and Theo could hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Potter, stay behind. I wish to speak with you.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Hadrian barely restrained a groan as Theodore shot him a sympathetic look before hurrying out of the office, the heavy oak door disguised as a portrait shutting loudly behind him. 

He sighed, inhaled deeply, before turning to look at the Professor with a placid smile. “Yes, Professor?” 

Snape snorted lightly, gesturing to the chairs. Hadrian swept over to them, but before dropping in he waved his wand and whispered the incantation he’d read about a few days ago. The hardwood chair wavered slightly before a cushioned (though still somewhat flat) seat appeared. He shrugged. He’d have to practice some more, but it seemed his enunciation and wand-movement was good. 

He looked up into Snape’s smirking face and couldn’t help but let one of his own slide onto his face. “You are most certainly not what I expected of James Potter’s son,” Snape started, tilting his head to the side as he considered him. 

Hadrian rose a brow. “You knew my father.” It wasn’t a question. Hadrian didn’t make a habit of asking questions because most of them were inane and insinuated that he didn’t _know_ \- it was just a happy side-effect that stating things simply threw people off (some were even so foolish as to attribute it to childish naivety). 

Snape’s eyebrow twitched. 

“That is not what we are speaking about. My point was that you have _potential_.” 

“You don’t want to talk about him because you hate him, don’t you? Sorry- _hated_.” 

“And _you_ will end up exactly like him if you continue.” 

Hadrian couldn’t help the pleased smile that spread across his face. “What, dead?”

“No,” Snape ground out tersely, eyes narrowed. “An arrogant little sod with ideals beyond his station.” 

Hadrian’s smile disappeared at that, and an actual snarl rumbled in his throat. How dare he? Who was this man to say that he was arrogant? That there was _anything_ that could be deemed _beyond him_? He was many things; brilliant and smart and charming but arrogance was one thing he’d ensured he’d never stoop to- it was the easiest way to fall. 

(Just look at Voldemort, being bested by a fifteen-month-old)

Snape was smiling now, smug and satisfied like this was precisely the reaction he’d been hoping for. Which, of course, only made Hadrian angrier because how dare the man think him predictable? 

“There are many things you have yet to learn, Potter. Things you cannot learn on your own.” Hadrian’s instinctive response was to argue that he _can_ learn everything on his own but figured Snape would want that so he bit his tongue and said nothing. “It is clear just from this conversation that you can learn. As I said, you have an endless amount of potential. One day, you will undoubtedly be more powerful than me and the Headmaster.” He didn’t even have time to preen at that because the next thing he knew, Hadrian was flying through the air, pinned to the wall. 

He struggled for a moment, raising his own magic to dismantle what felt like a net of pure magic keeping him pinned but it was fruitless. He stopped struggling eventually and settled on glaring at his professor. Snape stood and came around his desk, prowling towards him with the deadliness of every big predator. 

“But until such time, you will _listen_ to what I say to you and act accordingly. Raw power is all well and good but without the knowledge on how to wield it, it remains practically useless. Greater men than you have fallen from petty mistakes.” 

The words that the professor left unsaid weighed heavier than the ones he did, but Hadrian got the message. Snape was a Slytherin in almost every aspect. He ingratiated himself to the Light while remaining as Dark as one could be (if the darkness that Hadrian could sometimes see shadowing the man was any indication). Somehow, the man had managed to curry Dumbledore’s favour and with it at least acceptance from the rest of the wizarding world. He was an accomplished Potions Master- being the youngest in history to attain his Mastery in the difficult subject- and had already published several journals. 

Really, the opportunity the man was presenting was nothing short of gold. If nothing else, Hadrian would get the chance to see how Snape worked and if the man proved to be an enemy in the future (though he fervently wished he wouldn’t because the man was _powerful_ ) he’d have an insight into how he worked. 

Snape seemed to see the acceptance in his eyes because he let whatever force that pinned Hadrian to the wall drop. “Alright, I'll humour you. What do you want in return?” Because he wasn’t stupid, and he’d already mentioned how nothing came without a price (or weren’t you listening?). 

“Not many can say that they shaped the greatest wizard of this age into who they are.”

“Not many can say that they received personal tuition from the youngest Potions and Spellcraft Master in history.” 

The two stared at each other for a moment before Snape smiled widely, all teeth and faux intimidation. 

“Indeed. Apart from, perhaps, Draco. Your best effort in all areas and absolute obedience should be enough for me, Potter.”

Hadrian smiled just as sharply. "I'll consider what you have to say before doing what I want." The dour man just glared at him until Hadrian sighed. “Fine. My best effort and obedience within reason.” Snape nodded curtly before sweeping back to his desk where he began to slash at some papers with his quill. “Does this mean I don’t have a detention tomorrow?” Snape barked out a laugh. 

“Funny. If you’re not in your dorm within the next minute you’ll find yourself in detention for the next week as well.” 

Hadrian scowled, sniffing. Before he left, he turned back and nodded to the man’s weeping ankle. “You’re bleeding, professor. From there. Did you know?” 

He only narrowly missed the hex that hit the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have Theo! What do you guys think? 
> 
> I'm writing the concluding chapters of First Year and I want to make sure everything is done well and without plot holes, so chances are the next few updates may take longer; it's all so that I can deliver quality writing. 
> 
> That said, the next chapter will really shift the tone of the story (a bit, anyway) and give you guys an idea as to what the whole point is. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, ask me a question or just start a conversation in the comments. 
> 
> Next time; Quirrell


	12. The Enemy You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Hadrian is shaken in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys. Really, I do. I just checked and there are over 300 subscriptions and more than 150 bookmarks?!?! Thank you guys so much and I hope you enjoy this newest chapter

_You do not fall because you are weak, but because you think you are strong  
_ _-Yiddish Proverb_

Hadrian never doubted himself. He knew who he was and what he was capable of. He knew which button to press to get which reaction. Knowledge was a power he’d long since acquired. 

_Harry_ didn’t know half as much as Hadrian did. 

_Harry_ was a scared boy with unruly hair and poor sight. 

_Harry_ was meek and mild and utterly forgettable, abandoned on the doorstep on a usually cold day and never thought of again. 

_Harry_ strangled the part of him that spoke of something more, doubted that he’d ever become more than the names spat at him while tears clogged his throat. 

_Harry was weak._

Hadrian knew what it was to feel terror grip his heart and was familiar with the cold slide of fear dripping down his spine. It wasn’t a sensation he’d envisioned himself feeling any time soon, but alas the fates seemed to have other ideas. 

He was hanging from his broom by barely the tips of his fingers, dangling some hundred feet in the air while balls were flung all over the place and bodies raced around him. The roar of the crowd was deafening, eclipsed only by the pounding blood rushing through his ears. 

The game had started out no different that practice had, with Madame Hooch blowing the whistle and releasing the balls from their confinements and the crowds screaming in delight as each player set off. The wind had rushed through his hair and in his ears and around his body, oppressive and light and freeing and dangerous all at the same time. Hadrian had been surprised by how natural flying felt and while he soared above the others, looking down on them like the gods in the stories he used to read about, never had he felt more at peace, more assured. 

The snitch hadn’t been hard to spot, glinting gold in the morning sun as it flitted close to the ground as if it were aware of its own importance. The Slytherin team were toeing the line of playing fair and outright fouling their opponents and it seemed the Weasley twins were playing just as ruthlessly. Screams intensified as Flint’s quaffle soared through the hoops, barely brushing the tips of Oliver Wood’s fingers. Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor- who the commentator Lee Jordan seemed fixated on- responded by scoring for her team. 

From there the game descended into little more than a bloodbath with bludgers hurtling towards turned heads and players attempting to jolt one-another from their brooms. Hadrian hovered above it all, nose wrinkled in distaste, until Flint pulled up beside him and hollered, “Potter! Get your arse moving and find the damned snitch before we kill one of these idiots!” 

Hadrian had smiled and shrugged before flattening his body against the Nimbus 2000 (that had mysteriously turned up in his dorm one day) and diving. It was nothing he’d not practised before though he fell harder than usual considering how high up he’d been floating. Even so, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. 

At least, he _should_ have been able to handle it. 

His broom seemed to have other ideas. It was only because the snitch (which he strongly suspected had some kind of inherent consciousness) darted away from its place barely above the grass that Hadrian decided to pull his broom up early. But the darned thing wasn’t moving like it was supposed to and instead sent him spinning off in the opposite direction and promptly attempted to unseat him. 

That was how he ended up gripping the wood for dear life some hundred feet up, doubting his actions up until then and somewhat hesitant on how to move forward. 

There was magic surrounding him and his broom, that much he could say for certain. It was heavy and oppressive and nearly enough to choke him for how dark it was. It made the sweat rolling down his face come that much faster, and Hadrian felt a finger slip from the broom. 

_Think_ , he scolded himself, trying to breathe through the terror that gripped his heart. The broom gave another violent shudder. _What can I do?_ He didn’t have his wand since Madame Hooch had insisted every player leave them in the changing rooms to avoid cheating. His thoughts were too jumbled to think clearly, which meant trying to use his wandless magic would result most likely in something too big for anyone else to ignore; it was too soon for others to find out just how powerful he was. 

Which left the only thing he’d ever known. 

Hadrian sucked in a sharp breath as he clenched his hand around the broom tightly, too tightly, enough so that it hurt. His free hand that dangled uselessly he clenched into a fist before he closed his eyes and focused. His nails- never particularly sharp or long but always enough to do _this_ \- bit into his palms and there was tingling over his skin before it all felt _right_ again. 

There was a rush of power, of peace and calm, before he opened his eyes again, burning as brightly as the killing curse, and swung his leg up and around the now-still broom. 

The clamour of the crowd reached new heights as he turned his broom towards the stands. Up, where the teachers sat, Dumbledore was frowning and Snape had his lips pressed into a thin line. Hadrian smiled, sharp and deadly. 

At the end of the match, as his teammates slapped his back and his House shrieked their delight in the Gryffindors’ faces, he thought of the shocked disbelief on Quirrell’s face. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

“Potter.” 

Quirrell paused where he was in the corridor, foot poised as if to take another step forward but by the way the man’s startled face looked away from the first year, it seemed like he was considering turning around and fleeing back the way he came. 

“Professor,” Hadrian started in that silky way of his (though there was no ignoring the slight warning in his tone). “I wondered if I might have a moment of your time.” It wasn’t a question- Hadrian hardly ever _asked_. 

For a split second Quirrell’s nose flared and his eyes narrowed before his shoulders hunched and a nervous smile split his face. “O-of course. P-p-please, come i-in.” Hadrian let the professor lead him into his office before he closed the door behind him. 

Quirrell was shuffling papers on his desk, glancing over to Hadrian and chuckling nervously as he straightened them into neat piles. Hadrian said nothing, simply watched him with glowing emerald eyes and that calm expression. “W-what can I d-do for you, Mister P-p-potter?” 

“I was wondering, Professor,” Hadrian started, voice even, “if you knew anything about magical auras?”

Quirrell paused his incessant fumbling, turning to Hadrian with narrowed eyes. “Magical auras?”

“Yes. Or rather, more specifically, _seeing_ magical signatures.” 

Quirrell said nothing for a moment, simply staring at Hadrian with narrowed eyes. But then the man straightened up, hunched shoulders pulling back and chin raising as his eyes roamed the first-year Slytherin. “That is an unusual gift, Mr Potter, if you claim to have this gift. The Sight is a coveted gift amongst many families.” 

Hadrian gave a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, I gathered as much. I was curious though, Professor, about why a person would have two auras, like yours. Sometimes it's like you’re two completely different people.” 

Hadrian saw it then, the moment Quirrell decided to drop the act completely. His eyes went hard and cold, and there was the sudden crackle of magic in the air. It was dark and heady, as oppressive as Hadrian remembered from when he was dangling in the air like a puppet. 

His own magic rose to meet it, though he tried not to let _everything_ show. It would be better for his teacher to think him weaker than he really was, especially if he tried to attack him again. Hadrian found the element of surprise always proved useful. 

“It is not wise, _Potter_ , to meddle in affairs that do not concern you,” the man growled, eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits. 

“You made it my business the moment you attempted to _kill me_ ,” Hadrian snarled back, hands balled into fists. 

“Yes,” smiled the Professor, and it was an odd look on the man’s face. Quirrell had somewhat mousy features, bland and utterly forgettable. It had the potential to be somewhat attractive if his cheekbones were slightly more pronounced and his overbite not quite so noticeable, but as it was he was as memorable as the floor he stood on. The smile that warped his face seemed meant for another one who’d had more practice with the expression and it would have been entirely more terrifying on. 

As it was, Hadrian was left wondering just who this other person was, and what exactly their grudge with him was. 

“So you come to me alone, where I can get rid of you with ease. How considerate,” the man continued, smiling sharply. 

The tenuous hold Hadrian had on his anger slipped slightly, sparking between his clenched fists like electricity. “I threw you off before, I can do it again.”

The man laughed at that, head thrown back and everything (which really made Hadrian wonder who he could be because the man seemed to have a flair for the dramatics, and he would remember pissing anyone off who could fit every bad-guy trope there’d ever been). “Ah, yes. Blood magic is a dark and dangerous magic, Potter. What _ever_ would Dumbledore say?” His smile was mocking but there was a note of interest in his eyes. 

Hadrian tried not to let his confusion show. Blood magic? He'd read about it briefly from the few books he'd gotten from Knockturn Alley, but none of them mentioned much how to use it, only that it was volatile and highly illegal. But what caught Hadrian's interest more than anything was the fact that- whatever it was he'd done to throw off Quirrell's hex had been blood magic- the very thing he's been using for years. 

Now was not the time to think about those things, however. Now he had to face down his unknown opponent and figure out what to do next. Hadrian lifted his chin so that his nose was in the air in his best imitation of Malfoy that he could manage. 

“I’m sure the Headmaster will forgive me its use when he realises just _why_ I had to resort to it. He ought to know that the man he hired is-” he cut off with a choked cry as the breath was suddenly sucked from his lungs. His hands rose automatically to clutch at his throat, eyes wide as he tried to suck in air that had vanished. 

In front of him, Quirrell twirled his wand, which he had flicked from his holster too fast for Hadrian to see. “I grow bored of this now, Potter. You’re smart and have a lot of potential, but you’re a _child_ , barely more than an infant trying to play with adults.” The man sighed, as if pained, while Hadrian’s knees buckled and he continued to scrabble uselessly at this throat. 

“Truly,” Quirrell continued, unperturbed, “you could have grown to be a formidable opponent, and if you were anyone other than who you are, maybe even a valuable ally. But alas,” he spread his arms out wide with a twisted smile. “These are the cards dealt by fate, and we can but play with them.” 

Terror, sheer and utter blind terror grasped Hadrian in a vice grip with no intention of letting him go. His heart beat frantically in his chest and his lungs screamed at the need for oxygen but no more than pained gasps left his lips. His magic was lashing out, breaking the chairs by the desk and ripping the parchment to shreds while books were torn and destroyed, but nothing it did could bring air back to him. 

There was darkness on the edges of his vision, creeping in with black fingers that tugged at his fluttering eyelids. The strength seemed sapped from him and his head spun and there was suddenly no colour, just endless grey and black. 

Distantly, there was the sound of a door slamming and a sharp, familiar voice, but Hadrian could hardly focus on any of that. His attention was fixed firmly to filling his lungs with air that seemed to have miraculously returned, sweet, sweet air that fought off the darkness and slowly returned his senses. 

Around him, Hadrian could hear Quirrell’s stuttering something about panic attacks and a woman’s scream before a cutting voice promptly told him to shut up. Strong hands hauled him up until Hadrian was gasping into the pale face of his potions professor. His lips were pressed into a thin line again, just like he’d been at the Quidditch game, and he was mumbling some incantations as he waved his wand at Hadrian. 

It took a moment of blinking before he realised that the pain in his throat had eased away and breathing was easier than it had been. Another moment (of what he resolutely told himself was _collecting himself_ and was not weakness) before he ripped free and stood on his own. 

Snape was staring at him with onyx, unfathomable eyes while Quirrell seemed on the edge of a panic attack himself. Hadrian caught the barest flicker of a smile on the man’s lips before it contorted into a worried line. 

“Potter,” Snape started in his deep, warning voice. Hadrian sneered, instinctively straightening. He wasn’t _weak_. He didn’t need help. The man that was also Quirrell clearly wanted him dead but he would handle it. He would show him why _nobody_ should attempt to kill him again. 

As he shouldered his way past his Head of House and to the library, he fought to remind himself that he was Hadrian Potter-Back, First Prince, _not_ Harry Potter, the scared and abandoned freak that nobody wanted. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Severus cursed as he knocked back the rest of his alcohol. Nobody _listened_ when he spoke. He’d gone to Albus the moment he’d finished warning Quirrell away from Potter, but the old man refused to listen to reason. 

It wasn’t imagined that Potter’s broom had been hexed during the game. Severus had seen the boy fly before, and dammit if his Potter genes didn’t shine through there. The boy was a natural in the air, more graceful even than some birds. He hadn’t bothered warding the broom he’d bought the brat against hexes considering that the Slytherin team kept theirs in the bowels of the dungeon so no other house could tamper with them. It hadn’t been necessary. 

Or so he thought. 

The moment the broom started it’s jerky movements mid-dive, Severus had known that someone not only wanted Potter to lose the game but also his life. A dive from so high could result in only one thing, and the Vow he’d made a decade and a month ago urged him to try his darndest to counter the damage. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the shock of no-longer needing to counter the hex. As suddenly as it came, it left, and he could only watch dumbly as Potter swung back onto his broom, shooting the teachers’ stand an inscrutable look before beelining after the snitch. 

In the swell of the crowd after the match, Severus lost the Headmaster amongst the masses, and when he finally found him, he’d been discussing something with Hagrid in hushed tones. Dumbledore had waved him away with the excuse that he’d promised to discuss the cross-breeding of some of the Forests’ creatures with those that resided in the Black Lake, and that he would be available in his office in the next hour or so. 

He hadn’t been happy about the brush-off, but Severus knew when to cut his losses and left instead to search for the boy. It had been an oversight not to ward the broom but he’d be damned if he made the same mistake twice. 

Nott and Greengrass had informed him that Potter had mentioned speaking to Professor Quirrell about some assignment they’d been given and it was all Severus could do not to curse everything in sight seven ways to the next decade. Was the boy so foolish as to seek out the very man who’d tried not an hour ago to kill him? That wasn’t even a question because he _obviously_ was. It seemed Minerva had been cheated out of having the Golden Boy sorted into the House of Lions for how stupidly he’d been behaving recently. 

The sight he’d been greeted within Quirrell’s office had confirmed it. 

Potter was on his knees and scrabbling at his throat, purple-faced with eyes that were struggling to remain open while Quirrell twirled his wand from where he stood by his desk. It was only a split-second, perhaps even less, before Potter started coughing and gulping in air like a starved man and Quirrell was back to the stuttering pretence he’d donned all year. 

Potter...Hadrian...his eyes had held such fright and dismay, such terror that the boy hadn’t been able to mask that Severus couldn’t help but feel the startings of pity for him. 

Yet still, the Headmaster refused to do anything about it on the grounds of ‘not having enough evidence’. Severus had been shocked at that, lost for words. Here was the precious Saviour for the Light having two attempts on his life and all that the man in charge of his safety was worried about was _evidence_? 

“It is not inconceivable that Harry may have been shaken by his ordeal. Perhaps he sought out a teacher who he felt comfortable with.” The Headmaster had given him a pointed look then, and Severus knew the words that had gone unsaid. _Potter felt more comfortable talking to stuttering, frightful Quirrell than his own Head of House._ Severus had just sneered and stalked to his quarters in the dungeons. 

A heavy sigh left him as he sat back in his armchair, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. Quirrell would need to be watched and Potter would need to be trained. 

It seemed that even from the grave (or what Severus hoped was the grave) the Dark Lord managed to sink his claws into the unsuspecting. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Hadrian was in a terrible mood. 

Not everybody knew it or could tell, but their entire House had taken to walking on eggshells around him, especially after he cursed Parkinson’s nose to bleed unendingly after she made some comment on his flying. 

He still smiled with the other Houses and helped them out during lessons, still met every morning and evening with Sally-Anne and her merry bunch of Puffs and still attended every Quidditch practice but it was clear to those who knew him that Hadrian seemed perpetually pissed off. 

Every Sunday morning, from half-way through breakfast until midday, Hadrian trained with Snape in the dungeons. At first, the man made him go over first to third-year potions because he ‘wouldn’t be entertaining any miscreants without a talent for the fine art’. It took only until the beginning of December for the Potions Master to realise that Hadrian had talent way beyond his years and was not in any danger of falling behind in the subject. So they switched focus to other subjects. 

Hadrian had pushed for tutoring in Defence Against the Dark Arts but Snape had just sneered and muttered something about running before he could walk and wanted to focus on Transfiguration. The two, just as stubborn as each other, had relented and compromised on learning Charms (which Hadrian had a way of always turning into explanations on how to use during a duel). 

Still, having made leaps and bounds of progress in the subject, he wasn’t satisfied. 

Quirrell had nearly killed him. _Twice_. He had been powerless to stop the attacks, too slow to draw his wand and not powerful enough to wandlessly counter whatever it was the man had done to make the air disappear (which was something Hadrian _still_ hadn’t managed to work out yet). For all his visions of grandeur and being better than anyone, he was no more powerful in the face of _Quirrell_ of all people than Travis Connelly from the orphanage had been in the face of _him_. 

It disgusted him. 

Sleep didn’t come in the nights anymore, so Hadrian found himself wandering the halls of Hogwarts, a well of fury and frustration. His thoughts flit between how he could get better, be stronger and replaying those moments in Quirrell’s office, which only fed into his fury and frustration in a cyclical narrative. 

It was a boring Tuesday night and Hadrian was haunting the fourth floor when he ran into Peeves. He hadn’t been able to bribe the damned poltergeist with information on how to get into Snape’s potions supplies _or_ on altering the Defence classroom so that it looked like vampires were popping out of every desk (he’d been looking forward to the expression on Quirrell’s face during _that_ ). Instead, the annoying spectre had hollered that there was a _“Firstie out of bed!”_ which had prompted Filch and his demon cat to race towards him. 

He hadn’t even thought before he bolted off, taking the stairs two at a time and skidding down a dark corridor. Filch hadn’t made it in time onto the moving staircase, but stupid Mrs Norris had used her feline prowess and leapt the entire way and proceeded to chase him. It wasn’t until he’d hastily cast a low-powered _Bombarda_ at the lock on the only door on the entire floor and slammed it shut behind him that he’d managed to get his breathing under control. 

That was, until he heard an entirely different set of breathing. 

His first thought upon seeing the massive, three-headed dog was that the universe must have a vendetta against him. The middle head growled and the massive body took a single, lumbering step towards him, it’s sharp claws scraping against the wood under its feet and it was all he needed to whip his wand from its holster and fire off a stunner before turning and running as hard as he could. 

When he got back to his dorm room his panting managed to wake up Theodore and Malfoy, but he waved off their concerned glances and crawled shakily into bed, wondering all the while what lay beneath the trap door at the beasts’ feet.

* * *

The Christmas (or Yule, as Slytherins preferred to call it) holidays were steadily approaching, and Hadrian found himself once more in the library pouring over books he’d managed to charm Madam Pince into letting him take from the restricted section. His circle had long since abandoned all hopes of prying him from this place, and while Theodore and Tracy were usually content to sit with him and read their own books, there was only so much even they could take and eventually retired to the dungeons for games of Exploding Snap or Gobblestones. Hadrian had no such misgivings and was perfectly content to read every single book in the library if it meant he would never feel so damned _weak_ again.

> _It is commonly believed that blood magic cannot be practiced with good intentions at heart, which has led to the stigmatisation and outlawing of the practice- though we know this not to be true._
> 
> _It is a Dark and perilous art, rooted in the sacrifice and imbued power of blood. When given freely, the blood has the potential for a great amount of good; from fertility rituals to protection; from healing to warding._
> 
> _But if taken forcefully, unwillingly given, it has the power to control and corrupt s/he whose blood was taken. Blood of the enemy can be used to restore a foe and dismantle any blood magic protections a person previously had. Most commonly, blood magic has been used in an attempt to gather vast amounts of power, and while it does not grant as much as is perhaps desired, every action performed with magic this unstable and volatile has the potential to prove deadly._
> 
> _Because of the vast many uses of blood it has always been taboo to give another your blood- willingly or not._

Hadrian sat back, blinking down at the dusty tome. Finally, he had a name for his...his _thing_. 

Blood magic. 

Quirrell had mentioned it before, but he hadn’t understood it then. Now he did. 

Ancient and powerful, and only to be attempted by those secure in their own power. He’d been using it for years, almost as long as he’d discovered how to unofficially wield his magic. Of course he was powerful, that was never a question, but to have something to compare to, to have confirmation beyond star-struck peers and sympathetic teachers…

It explained...well, a lot, if not everything. When he was four, he’d fallen against the frame of his bed and cut open his knee, bleeding all over the sheets and his beaten-up bag of belongings. He’d cried then, his heart pattering against his chest, cried and pleaded for safety and peace and _protection_.

Nobody had been able to touch his bag since. 

Once he'd realised what happened, that somehow, someway he'd managed to keep people away, his next course of choice was his room. It was night, and he’d managed to swipe a shard of glass from the mirror Jaque had broken earlier in the day. He’d slipped out of bed, ignoring how cold the floor was against his bare feet, and slashed his hand open. The blood had been so beautiful, pretty and safe and _perfect_ as it welled and rolled down his hand to splash against the threshold. He’d wiped his hands all over the doorframe while whispering frantically _“I want this room to be safe. I want this room to be peaceful. I want to be protected_.” 

Over and over and over again, until Travis Connelly couldn’t enter the room once Harry had run in, until Madame Ida couldn’t enter either, and Harry knew for the first time that he was safe only because he made it so. 

Blood magic, this powerful and dark magic, had kept him safe for years. How could it possibly be bad? 

There was a fluttering sound getting louder, and as he glanced up he saw a paper bird flying towards him. It landed on the book he was reading and unfolded itself. There, in neat script read 

> _Harry,_
> 
> _I was wondering if I could have a word in my office? I tend to have something of a sweet tooth for Sherbert Lemons._
> 
> _-Professor Dumbledore._

Hadrian frowned, mentally going over everything he’d done this week. Nobody knew about his trip to the third floor corridor, and if he did manage to trip some wards then surely someone would have spoken to him by now. 

Still frowning, he slipped the book into his bag along with the rest of his schoolwork before making his way to the Headmaster’s office. 

Once he’d given the stone gargoyle the password, he made his way up the winding staircase. When he knocked, the old voice called “Come in!” and Hadrian entered into a room that almost gave him a headache. 

There were things everywhere. Bookshelves lined the walls and trinkets sat in any available space. The desk in the centre of the room was full of parchment and little golden devices that Hadrian couldn’t even guess as to their function. On top of it all was a newspaper from the _Daily Prophet_ with a moving picture of some goblins and the headline _‘Break-in at Gringotts!’_ beneath that, as the subheading, Hadrian could read that it was vault 713 that had been broken into but nothing was stolen because it had been cleared out earlier that day. 

“Harry, my boy!” called the old professor, and Hadrian had to reduce his reaction to a tick in his jaw. Nobody called him _Harry_ anymore. It was a common, unseemly name for someone so important. Still, this was Dumbledore and he’d grin and bear it if it meant the old man wouldn’t look too closely. 

“Headmaster, you called for me?”

Dumbledore waved him into a seat. “Yes, yes. Lemon drop? No? Okay then. I hear you will be staying in the castle for the holidays.” 

Everyone in his circle had tried to convince him to go to theirs’ for the Yuletide season but Hadrian had decided that staying in Hogwarts would be more beneficial. Here, without the masses, he could concentrate on getting more powerful and he wouldn’t have to worry about social cues he’s wholly oblivious to. 

Hadrian narrowed his eyes slightly before blinking up at the man. “Yes. The orphanage isn’t half as lovely as Hogwarts, and Sally-Anne and I decided it would be infinitely better to get more familiar with her.” 

Dumbledore hummed, steepling his fingers. “Indeed. Now, my boy, you must know that you were never intended to live in an orphanage.” At this Hadrian froze, tense. 

Did the old man think him a fool?

“Well, my family is dead, sir. Voldemort saw to that. I don’t imagine there are many other places for me to be.” 

Dumbledore was quiet for a long time after that, watching him with those very blue eyes that weren’t quite as twinkly as they had always seemed. 

“It is indeed true that Lord Voldemort saw to it that you were orphaned, Harry, but there is still family that you should have been living with. Your mother- she died protecting you. Her love and sacrifice offered you the protection that you have been without these last ten years.” 

Hadrian cocked his head to the side. “But sir, isn’t Voldemort dead? Who would I need protection from? Didn’t I defeat him already?” 

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Hadrian was supposed to have defeated this great, powerful Dark Lord when he was a baby, and yet the Wizarding World still seemed like there was another war afoot. 

“There are many out there who believe that Lord Voldemort was truly defeated that night, but I knew him. He was a man of many talents, and feared death before anything else. There were surely avenues he took to circumvent it, especially during the perilous times as the First Wizarding War was.

“But that is not exactly what we were here to discuss. You should have been living with your mother’s sister and family in order to keep the wards erected from her sacrifice working. I know you haven’t met them yet, and I thought this holiday would be the perfect time to get to do so.” 

Dumbledore had hardly finished speaking and Hadrian had barely registered the man’s words before the office door opened. Professor Snape swept in, his usual dark robes and pale skin, and behind him trailed a skinny woman. 

Hadrian didn’t know what to do, and for a moment his mind went blank. The woman stood by the door, wringing her hands and staring at her shuffling feet. He blinked because surely this must be a joke? A hallucination of some kind? Perhaps he’d inhaled too much of that toxic potion Neville had brewed in potions last week and he was having a delayed reaction. 

There was no way that this woman would be _here_ , at Hogwarts, in the Headmaster’s office with the man offering for him to live with her. 

It was too crazy to consider. 

“I don’t understand,” he said finally and it took everything he had not to let anything show in his voice. He looked at Snape, who was watching him with dark eyes before turning back to the Headmaster. 

Dumbledore beamed up at him. “Harry, my boy, this is your mother’s sister, Petunia. You were always intended to live with her and husband and their son Dudley. He’s about Harry’s age now, isn’t he?” 

Petunia had stumbled into the office and was stood hitched in the corner, clutching at her arms hard enough to bruise. 

Hadrian’s haze slid over the woman to land on his Head of House, stood by the door. The man’s face was too closed off for Hadrian to tell what he was thinking, but there was a weight to the man’s eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. 

“I wasn’t aware,” he started slowly, allowing his voice to catch slightly, “that anyone would be considering adopting me.” 

Petunia made a noise in her throat that sounded like a cat hacking up a hairball before she found her voice. “Adopt! I won’t be letting this _freak_ into-”

“That’s enough, Mrs Dursley,” Dumbledore interrupted in the most serious voice Hadrian had heard the man use (and he’d overheard the man chastising the Weasley twins for blowing up a toilet). “We were hoping, Harry, that you would be able to use this holiday as a chance to get to know each other so that you’re used to each other come summer.” 

Hadrian felt the first pricks of blood bead in his palm from how hard his hands were clenched. 

“Summer?”

“Yes, when Hogwarts let’s out you’ll be going to live with your Aunt.” 

“No!” Petunia burst out, her face turning an alarming shade of red. “This is _not_ what I agreed to. You told me this was a matter of inheritance that Lily left and instead you’re trying to bully me into taking _him_ back! I swore seven years ago that I’d never see him again!”

The office fell silent for several moments before Snape broke it. “I know math never was your strong point, Petunia, but Potter is eleven, so it would have been hard for you to have made such an oath three years after you’d professed to have last seen him.” 

Dumbledore was no longer smiling and his eyes no longer twinkling. He was watching Petunia severely over his half-moon glasses, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“I-I mean, of course--he-” Petunia stuttered, eyes darting about the place until they came to rest on Hadrian’s still form. The boy had that serene, unperturbed look about him still, even after all the years since she’d last seen it, and it was what made her act dissolve. “Wipe that look from your face, boy!” she snapped. “And tell them that you don’t want to come back so I can leave.”

Hadrian didn’t say anything for a while, simply gazing at her with cold, unfeeling eyes until they narrowed to mere slits. A small rivulet of blood trailed along his palm to pool in the crevices of his clenched hand. 

The temperature in the office dropped until they could all see their breath in the air. “You don’t get to _speak_ to me,” he hissed, ignoring the way Dumbledore’s eyes widened and Snape’s narrowed. He couldn’t think beyond the woman standing there with her skeletal face (which he could remember all too well contorting in disgust the first time he’d made the mistake of calling her ‘mama’) and her bony hands (that he could still feel the ghost of digging into his shoulders as she towed him crying from the kitchen where Dudley had burned his hands on the stove and shoved him into his cupboard). 

There used to be nothing but fear and trepidation when he saw her. He used to hunch his shoulders and duck his head and- _damn_ if he wasn’t working hard not to familiarize himself with every speck of dust on the floor. 

Instead, he lifted his chin and met her shocked gaze while saying coolly, “You don’t deserve to be here. I kept your secret. I lied for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with such dirty, unworthy filth like you.” He stood suddenly from his seat and Petunia peeped, jumping back so she was pressed against the wall. “I told you already,” he started in a voice much lower than expected for an eleven-year-old, “that if I ever saw your face again I wouldn’t be able to control it. Maybe you’ll like to match Uncle Vernon?”

Then, in the midst of issuing what neither wizard present could mistake as less than a threat, the boy smiled, and his voice sweetened, and it was as if the very clouds had parted and a ray of heavenly light shone on him to light him up. It was at complete odds with his dark words and made it all the more terrifying to see. 

Petunia’s face scrunched up before she retorted sharply but no sound came out of her mouth. 

The woman’s eyes widened as she clutched at her throat and tried to speak again but nothing changed, and not so much as a peep left her mouth. Hadrian didn’t care, couldn’t even pretend to feel a shred of remorse for her, too far gone in his hatred and anger. 

His voice was little more than a whispering hiss at that point, and the horse-faced woman was gasping under the oppressive force of his magic. Part of him rejoiced at the fact that he was _finally_ able to do what Quirrell had done to him, but another part was busy berating himself for his loss of control. He knew it was stupid to show his distaste for muggles and his power so openly in front of Dumbledore, even more stupid for Snape to see him lose control, but there was only so much he could take. 

His magic had slipped free of the tenuous hold he’d learned to keep it under, and in the rare moment of freedom it had decided to wreak havoc on the office. Glass smashed and wind whipped and there was the odd smell of electricity in the air. It all made him feel alive, terribly, startlingly alive, and he never wanted to give it up. 

Petunia was scrabbling at her throat, gasping, her face turning blue, but Hadrian could only grin in response. Here was a woman who had done everything she could to tear him down, break him and shatter him and- 

_She deserved it. She did. She deserved pain and suffering and agony. She should bleed, it would make a wonderful sacrifice, extra wards, more power. Her blood is dirty, filthy, stupid and plain but muggle blood can be infused with others to bolden him, for rituals, for potions that strip others of their gift. He was sure that if he pressed a little bit harder, there- right under her jaw- he’d get a lovely spray of crimson and-_

Hadrian blinked and everything stopped. Books that hung midair dropped to the floor as gravity regained its hold of the office. Dumbledore was stood by Petunia, helping her into a chair as he handed her a conjured glass of water while muttering some kind of healing spell at her neck. 

Snape was stood by his side, considering Hadrian with glittering, calculating eyes. Hadrian met the dark gaze, felt his magic lash out and brush the man one last time before it settled back into the confines of his body, locked and safe and controlled. 

Petunia was whimpering and shaking and sobbing and the only thought Hadrian had was that Dumbledore must have given her her voice back in order for him to hear her pathetic whines. He ought to find a way to stop them forever, else she’ll be a permanent annoyance. A sneer curled his lip. 

“I think,” he said slowly, “that there is no more to be said here. Good day, Headmaster, Professor Snape.” Then his eyes slid once more to the trembling woman with an ashen face. 

He smiled. “Until next time, Petunia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I'm sorry it took so long, but I don't like having nothing extra and Chap 13 is almost double this and I hadn't quite finished it yet. That said, my uploading schedule has been completely thrown off because I need to plan and then write and then refine and...a lot. Don't hate me. 
> 
> But other than that, what do you guys think? There were quite a few things that happened in here, Quirrell and blood magic and Petunia. Hadrian's reaction is a bit tame but he's aware that Dumbledore is there so :/ 
> 
> Also, feel free to start/join any conversation in the comments, I love hearing everyone's thoughts. I probably should find a forum of some kind but I don't know much about that kind of stuff so I'll stick to the comment section. 
> 
> Let me know what you think?


	13. Of Chaos and Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. So, I know, it's been a week and a day but I've been swamped. Anyway, here's an extra-long chapter to make up for it. See you at the bottom!

_In all chaos there is cosmos, in all order a secret order  
_ - _Carl Jung_

The morning of the Yule break Hadrian finds himself at the breakfast table joking with Zabini about Granger’s obvious crush on Theodore. The girl seemed incapable of drawing her eyes away from their friend, who only scowled at his plate and sent withering glares to a laughing Hadrian for finding it funny. 

“How do you know it’s not you she’s staring at,” Theodore mumbled sullenly, peeking a look over at the Gryffindor table. Granger quickly ducked her head, but her bobbing head of hair gave her away, as did the blush staining her cheeks. 

Hadrian chuckled. “Please. She hasn’t so much as breathed in my direction since that night. You’re her _mighty hero_ .” Hadrian batted his lashes at Theodore as he pressed into his side. The boy just blushed harder and mumbled something about being forced into the situation. “Besides,” Hadrian continued, stirring his tea “Her life serves a purpose. Now we’ve got a nerdy know-it-all _and_ a Gryffindor in our debt.” He flashed the brunet beside him a brilliant smile which made the boy’s stomach clench and his breath come short. 

“Won’t you reconsider, Hadrian? I’m sure the professors would have no problem allowing you to come to mine for Yule,” cut in Daphne, changing the subject. She’d been accepting of Hadrian’s views on muggle-borns, but she still didn’t like them and Granger in particular irritated her the most. 

“Sorry, Daphne love, but I’ll be staying in the castle this year. The library, you see,” he smiled, which only made everyone but Theodore and Tracy roll their eyes. 

“I’m certain that you should have been a Claw,” muttered Malfoy from where he was slumped over a cup of foul-smelling coffee (the blond never had been one for mornings). 

Hadrian ignored him. “Yes, well. Sally-Anne and I have a lot to catch up on.” At that, Daphne’s face soured as the conversation turned once more to a muggle-born. Millicent didn’t seem to realise the blonde’s turned mood because she leaned forward, smiling. 

“Yes, we’ve all been wondering what’s going on between the two of you,” she remarked, smiling sharply. The rest of the table shifted, clearly interested, but unsure as to how Hadrian would take it. It was no secret that the boy preferred not to talk about anything personal and with the way his temper had been in the last month, they didn’t want to push too hard.

Hadrian simply hummed, taking another sip of his tea before he responded. His gaze was on the golden-haired Hufflepuff who was laughing with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott while another muggle-born Justin Finch-Fletchley waved his arms about. “She is very dear to me,” he said simply, and nobody asked for more. 

(Beside him, Theo burned his hand on his own cup of steaming tea)

“But,” Hadrian continued, turning to them with a brilliant smile, “I’ll be more than happy to accompany any one of you for Yule next year. Ask your parents for me?” 

The table rang with promises of invitations and before they knew it, everyone was traipsing outside to where the carriages were waiting. Daphne made him promise to write to her at least five times in the next two weeks and Zabini gave him an unnecessarily tight hug while Malfoy said something about moving his accounts from Gringotts to some upstart European bank run in league with leprechauns (which Hadrian didn’t even want to _begin_ to unpack the failings of). Before the carriages moved off, Theodore placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him solemnly in the eye. 

“I know you’re working on something, ‘Ian,” he started, and Hadrian could only raise a brow at the shortening of his name (which he had used _specifically_ so that people would stop shortening it to the common abomination) to which Theodore only blushed, but continued. “You’ve been working yourself so hard this last month, but I want you to know that I’ll help where I can. If...if you let me.” 

Hadrian didn’t really know what to think or say to that. Nobody had offered to help so openly before, especially for nothing in return (so Snape didn’t count because that man was clearly only in _anything_ for himself). It seemed Theodore- or should he start to call him Theo since the boy had a fondness for nicknames?- valued him as a person and not just as a symbol or what he could get out of him. 

He could only smile at the boy and nod. As he watched the carriages roll away, pulled by some invisible being, Hadrian decided that Theo would always be his first. 

He joined Sally-Anne on the way back to the castle as she had been seeing off her Hufflepuff friends. It was one of the milder days, but she still walked close to him, bumping into his side every now and then. 

“I’ve been invited to Hagrid’s for tea,” she started suddenly, glancing up at him. “Will you come with me?”

Hadrian frowned. “Hagrid? Isn’t he the... _big_ groundskeeper? Why’d he invite you to tea?” It was weird, he thought. Teachers didn’t just invite their students for _tea_. Then again, Dumbledore had done that (even if it was for an ulterior motive). Maybe it was a wixen thing? 

Sally-Anne shrugged. “Susan and Hannah were telling me about their pet kneazles- that’s magical cats by the way- and I was so interested and started asking about all the other wonderful magical creatures. Oh- did you know there’s a thing that’s attracted to gold, like a magpie? Except it’s not a bird- I forgot the name.”

“Niffler,” he answered automatically, though he wasn’t quite sure how. He’d known about kneazles because Malfoy was allergic to them and Millicent had one that seemed keen on getting into their dorm and sleeping on his bed, but he’d never heard of nifflers before. 

“Yes, a niffler! They’re really cute, Susan showed me pictures of them, and Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw- who’s related distantly to Newt Scamander- said that they’ve got some in their manor and he’d be happy for me to come over and see them sometime. With you, of course,” she hastily added, glancing over at him. “Sometimes I think they only put up with me because I’m your friend.”

Hadrian waved her off with a small smile. “Nonsense, Sally-Anne. You’re brilliant in your own right.” 

She beamed up at him then, bright and shining, before tugging on his hand. “Come on, there’s smoke coming from Hagrid’s hut so that means he’s in.” He didn’t bother to point out to her that he knew what smoke coming from a chimney meant and chose instead to traipse after her with an indulgent smile. 

“Sally-Anne! ‘arry! Come in, come in!” boomed Hagrid when he opened the heavy door to his hut. Hadrian managed not to scowl at the butchering of his name only because the oaf had managed to say Sally-Anne’s entire name (he always got so irritated when people shortened it). They shuffled into the tiny hut which seemed to be a poor attempt at fitting an entire house into one room with an attached bedroom to the back and if Hadrian had thought Dumbledore’s office to be cluttered then this was simply appalling. 

There wasn’t an inch of wall space not taken up by _something_ (though just what Hagrid kept there, he couldn’t tell. They certainly weren’t books like the Headmaster’s) and the shelves seemed to be doing that awkward thing that so many wizarding buildings did and was slanted awkwardly. Hadrian couldn’t see the appeal in having such a disorganized design. It made his head hurt. 

They sat at a table that reached nearly up to their chins and in seats that allowed their feet to swing freely without even brushing the floor. Hagrid set down two huge steaming cups of mint tea and a plate of cakes of some kind. 

He and Sally-Anne spoke for a while about different creatures and where they’re found while Hadrian was content to sit back and listen. It was nice to hear her so happy and carefree. In the orphanage, she didn’t have anyone but him to talk to and he wasn’t one for unnecessary chatter. Here, amongst wizarding folk, she could flourish as he always knew she could. 

But in the end, she’d always come back to him. 

“Wha’ abou’ you, ‘arry?” Hadrian blinked and looked up into the smiling face of the giant (or at least half-giant- nobody could be that tall and not have creature blood in them). “Heard you’re doing well in your studies.”

Hadrian couldn’t fathom who he’d heard that from, considering none of the Hufflepuff’s seemed too concerned with his grades beyond helping them and it would be weird for random teachers to go speaking about him to random members of staff. Though, if it helped spread the news of his brilliance, he wasn’t one to put a stop to it. 

“Oh, perfectly fine, Mr Hagrid. There hasn’t been a class that’s proved too difficult just yet. I’m excited to get to third year so I can take arithmancy and ancient runes, though. They sound interesting.” He smiled up at the man who barked out an explosive laugh. 

“Reckon you take after Lily in tha’ respect. She was the brightest witch of her age, y’know. Brilliant with charms and not too far behind Professor Snape when it came to potions.” 

“And my father?” Hadrian asked, “Ollivander said something about Transfiguration when I was getting my wand.” 

Hagrid boomed out another laugh. “Ah, James Potter was something else! Brilliant at Transfiguration, ‘s true, but that cer’ainly ain't where it ended. ‘e and his friends were an abs’lute menace about the castle, little like those Weasley twins. Why, I can’t tell you how many times I found my beard dyed pink!” The man continued to laugh long and hard about it while Hadrian filed the information away for later. Perhaps it was his pranking nature that Snape disliked James so much. Was he a victim? Were they rivals? 

The conversation turned to the Weasleys’ latest prank, which was somehow getting into the locked storage cupboard by the Great Hall and filling it with dungbombs. When everyone came down for breakfast, they detonated it along with another set that sprayed sticky goo on all the fleeing students. Hadrian had to admire their strategy skills if nothing else. They’d make formidable battle officers. 

Sally-Anne said something about Dumbledore needing to get the goblins in for warding (because she’d just got done telling them about this fantastic story she’d read about goblins and elves and centaurs) when Hagrid shifted and averted his eyes. 

“Though,” Hadrian added slowly, leaning back and feigning nonchalance. “Draco mentioned something about moving his accounts from Gringotts due to the recent break-in. It was said to be the second most protected place in Britain.” 

Sally-Anne gasped. “Really? Well, whoever’s vault that is is lucky that it was cleared. Imagine, the same _day_ as well.” 

Hadrian nodded, but his eyes were fixed on Hagrid who had stood up and pottered over to his fire. Fang, a great big, black dog with hanging jowls that seemed content resting its heavy head on Hadrian’s lap, got up and followed the man expectedly. 

“Really, Dumbledore should see about allowing the castle to be used as a safe spot. After all, _Hogwarts; A History_ says that it’s the most protected place. With our wards, nobody can break in or out.” 

Hagrid, who had been pouring another cup of tea, jolted and burned himself. Sally-Anne shrieked and Fang burst into a fit of barking. Hadrian only smirked. 

“N-now, don’t you worry about any o’ that. That’s strictly between Nicolas Flamel and Professor Dumbledore.” 

There was a moment of stillness before Hagrid muttered, “I shouldn’t have told you tha’.” 

Hadrian waved him off. “Oh, it’s fine, Hagrid. I can imagine it must be very dangerous if they were willing to brave the goblins. Sally-Anne and I are looking for a quiet year.” 

Hagrid bobbed his head vigorously, patting Fang in an attempt to quiet him. “Yes, you keep yer heads down. Fluffy’ll be enough-” 

Just then, there was a hissing sound from the fire, or more specifically, the pot hanging above the fire. Hagrid jumped and put on some mittens before sticking his hand into the pot and ambling back over to the table. In the middle, he laid down something almost as big as their heads and somewhat oval-shaped, a burnt gold with dark spots. Hadrian couldn’t fathom a guess as to what it was but Sally-Anne peeped beside him and clasped a hand over her mouth. 

“Hagrid!” she whisper-shouted. “Is that what I think it is?”

The tall man coughed, scratching at his hair (which Hadrian vowed his would _never_ look like no matter how unruly it got). “Er...well, you see…” 

Hadrian just blinked. “What is it?”

“Harry, it’s a _dragon egg_!” The golden-haired girl was bouncing in her seat with a wide smile stretched across her face. Hagrid released a breath of tension, smiling at her, and the two began prattling on about species and feeding habits. 

“But Hagrid,” Hadrian began slowly because it seemed he was the only one who possessed a shred of common sense, “you can’t raise a _dragon_ here.” The two of them turned to look at him. “This is a school, with hundreds of children. It’ll get too big, and I’m fairly sure they’re all carnivores.” 

The big man didn’t seem to hear him and he sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he couldn’t get the man to give it up. “Where did you even get it?” 

“Oh, I won it,” said Hagrid, still patting at his smoking beard. “Las’ night down by the pub. We were playin’ cards, see, and- well, reckon he was glad ter be rid of it, ter be ‘onest.” He shrugged. 

“Harry’s right, though, Hagrid,” Sally-Anne began softly, stroking idly at the egg. “There’s no way you’ll be able to keep it a secret. Besides, dragon breeding without a license is _illegal_ and Susan said that the wizarding prison Azkebiel-”

“Azkaban.”

“-is so horrible and cold because of those demons-”

“ _Dementors_.” 

“-and I wouldn’t like you to go.” She finished her pleading by giving Hagrid her widest, kicked-puppy look while thoroughly ignoring Hadrian’s corrections. Hagrid caved instantly, his shoulders drooping in defeat. 

“Alrigh’,” he conceded, “I’ll talk to Dumbledore or sommat’. Just don’t go blabbing about ‘im to everyone.” Hadrian just sniffed and took another sip of his luke-warm tea. 

“Oh, Hagrid!” Sally-Anne flung her arm around the half-giant’s waist and squeezed, though Hadrian supposed that the man hardly felt it through all those layers. “Smith in my House mentioned that his cousin works with Weasley’s older brother in Romania at a dragon reserve. Maybe we can get him to come take, er-”

“Norbert,” the teary-eyed man offered. 

“Yes, Norbert, to Romania where he’ll be with other dragons.” That seemed to brighten Hagrid up, and soon Hadrian was watching the two of them discuss the various characteristics of the Norwegian Ridgeback. He could only shake his head and sigh. 

At least Sally-Anne was having fun.

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

“And to think that you wanted to advance to _curses_ , Potter,” drawled the deep voice from the man in front of him. Hadrian just grit his teeth and sets his wand on the table, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows the look on his face is mulish and unbecoming, but he can’t help it. 

“I _did_ the bloody Transfiguration,” he grits out, glaring at the china teapot sat in front of him. 

“Yes, but it’s not what it should be. I asked for a white teapot with a blue willow design, _not_ a purely white one.” 

“There’s no difference! You asked for a teapot and a teapot is what you have.” 

Snape glared at him and Hadrian glared right back until the man flicked his wand and the teapot morphed back into a slowly crawling tortoise. Hadrian stuffed down the urge to scream- because Snape had been doing this for the past _hour_ and he was sick of it- and lifted his wand instead, muttering “ _Porocei_ ” while he waved his wand in a slow arc. 

He could tell before the spell had even hit the creature that it would be poor. The grey of the shell lightened only until it turned grey and the pattern remained while the rest of its body contorted into a vaguely pot-ish shape. 

Hadrian didn’t bother masking the sound of disgust he made as he pushed away from the desk, pacing over to the other side of the room. He squeezed his eyes shut, fists balled by his sides and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to do the spell- not because he wasn’t capable (he’d certainly done harder things than this before) but because he couldn’t _think_. There were too many things going on, too many things bouncing around in his brain. 

He and Sally-Anne had spent the past week trolling through tome after dusty tome for any mention of the mysterious Nicolas Flamel. 

Hadrian was certain that he’d heard the name from somewhere before, had more than probably read it in some book or other, but it was a matter of remembering where and for what. For the first time, he cursed the wizarding world for being behind and not having something like muggle computers- how easy would it have been to simply search the web for it? 

As it was there were no computers or magical indexes. In the three hours or so that they spent looking each night, Hadrian read on the magical theory behind transfiguration and the weaponization of household charms and warding your house against the darkest of creatures without delving into the Dark Arts yourself- but not a single thing on who Nicolas Flamel was or why he was important. 

And Hadrian knew the man was, knew it like he knew that _he_ was. Dumbledore had colluded with this mystery person over some mystery object and Hadrian was determined to find out why. 

To make matters worse, he’d run out of practical books on the application of offensive or defensive spells. Most of the books in the library at Hogwarts offered only theory, and all-too-often the authors went off on wild tangents until they ended up talking for chapters about _herbology_ or _astronomy_ of all things. 

He could feel the walls closing in on him, knew that there wasn’t much time left. It would only be a matter of weeks, if that, until Quirrell struck again, and Hadrian didn’t feel he was anywhere near ready enough to come out unscathed. 

Sometimes, when he lay in his empty dorm room or sat in the deserted common room by the crackling fire, he could swear that he could feel the ominous and oppressive magic of the other person inhabiting Quirrell warping the air and stealing all the oxygen. 

Fear of this magnitude was an entirely new concept to Hadrian, and one he found he had no tolerance for.

“You will never manage to do it if you don’t work past whatever it is holding you back,” intoned his professor from where he still stood, close to the desk Hadrian was previously sat at. Hadrian shook his head and turned around. 

“It’s not that simple,” he said, rubbing at his aching head. Snape was eyeing him with a weird expression on his face but then the man nodded curtly and strode over to his desk and sat, scrawling something out on some parchment. 

“You need to rest. Take the rest of the holiday, we’ll resume when the rest of the blunderbuss are back.” 

Hadrian scowled. “No. I can’t afford _rest_ ,” he sneered. “I need to learn now.” He slashed his wand in the air, aiming it again at the hunk of grey clay. The image warbled again slightly, but save for the slightest change in the shade of grey, nothing else happened. 

Snape raised a dark brow, sniffing. “Yes, and as you can see you will not be able to achieve anything in this state. Rest, Hadrian. This is non-negotiable.” The dark-haired man levelled the dark-haired child with a stern look before the boy growled and stormed out, slamming the door loudly behind him. 

Snape sighed from behind his desk, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. The boy had been getting steadily more frantic with research and offensive spells in the past month, ever since he’d walked in on the boy alone with Quirrell. Whatever happened between the two of them (and Severus didn’t doubt it was big either) was enough to scare Potter into working himself to the point of magical exhaustion- no easy feat given the well of power that the boy has. 

Dumbledore refused to remove Quirrell from the school, however, and was even more against removing the Stone. He was fixated on the idea of drawing Voldemort out and into the open, forcing the slumbering Wizarding World into realising that their enemy was not yet completely gone and galvanising them into striking before they were struck. 

And while Severus was usually all-for pre-emptive attacks, these were children the Headmaster was endangering. If anything happened to any of the children the man was sworn to protect, then it wouldn’t matter whether the Dark Lord was back or not- Dumbledore would fall from grace and someone like Lucius Malfoy would rise to the plate. 

More than that, innocent children would be hurt and pay the price of Dumbledore’s political manipulations. 

It was disquieting to see the boy who’d come in with confidence that bordered arrogance turn into this haggard, haunted thing that did nothing more than research ways to get more powerful. Potter was something of a magical prodigy, but if he became as fixated and fanatic about just one thing, then Severus saw him heading down the same path as the Dark Lord.

And he most certainly couldn’t have that. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~   
  


Hadrian had been sat at his desk when the clock ticked to midnight, and he would not have taken much notice of it if it weren’t for the piles of objects that appeared suddenly by the foot of his bed. He paused, placing his quill on the desk lest he create a mess with the ink (it had taken him weeks to write with quills properly, and even still his handwriting was better only than Crabbe and Goyle’s). 

It wasn’t a surprise to see so many gifts, considering that many in his circle had been speaking about nothing else for weeks now, but it was _weird_ to see so many for himself. He hastily read the labels to make sure that they were, in fact, his and not dropped off accidentally by a house-elf or something. But they all read, in various handwriting, _Hadrian Potter-Black_ with the exception of two. One, he knew to be from Sally-Anne because of the written _Harry_ with stars all around his name (he’d seen her notes from History of Magic and she did the same thing all over). 

The second was a plainly wrapped parcel and caved easily in his grip, which let him know it was clothing of some sort. There was a small note attached, written in a script that seemed vaguely familiar but had no name assigned at the bottom. 

> _Your father left this in my possession, before he died. It is time to return it to you. Use it well_. 

Hadrian frowned. One of his father’s old friends must have heard- or known, considering how popular he is- that he’d re-entered the wizarding world and this was an attempt to reach out. 

Intrigued, he carefully opened the package, his frown deepening as something silky slid out and landed on his legs. 

Or, at least, he _thought_ it must have landed on his legs. When he looked down to see what it was, all he saw was the wooden floorboards beneath him. A strangled cry left him before he could stop it and he jumped up, scrambling frantically to make sure that his legs hadn’t actually disappeared. There was another feeling of silky velvet against his legs before they reappeared, whole and intact as if they’d never gone. 

Hadrian frowned and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Ever since persuading (read: bullying) Madame Ida into getting him contacts the year before he’d had no problems with his sight, but he supposed he was due for some new ones and-- did magic interfere negatively with it, the same way it did electricity? He wasn’t sure, but he’d have to search it up. 

He tacked it onto the ever-growing list of things he needed to research and looked back down at his pile of gifts. Cautiously, he reached forward, until his fingers brushed against the same silky smooth material he’d felt before. Yanking, he held it up until it hung from both his hands in the air, like a great partition, and he was ashamed to say it took a few moments for him to realise just what exactly it was. 

It turned out to be a _cloak_ of some kind, and when he went to try it on again and got another shock at seeing his body disappear beneath its heavy folds, he realised that it wasn’t just a cloak but an _invisibility cloak_. 

Such magical artefacts weren’t cheap, and while he’d known that the Potters were an old pureblood family with wealth, he hadn’t thought that they’d have something which would make even Malfoy jealous. Weirder was, from what Hadrian had heard from Theo and Tracey’s discussions, invisibility cloaks tended to lose their magic after five years or so; James Potter had been dead for ten years exactly. Maybe his father’s elusive friend had found a way to ‘update’ the magic like one fills a prescription. 

(Another thing added to the stretching list).

He decided to look at the rest of them later. The hour was late and it was only as he ran reverent hands over the silky material of the cloak that he realised just how tired he really was. Sleep hadn’t been easy to come by lately, but maybe he’d be able to get some that night. 

A few hours of snatched sleep later, he dragged himself into the Great Hall, ignoring the few other students’ calls of _“Merry Christmas”_. There was nothing merry about this time of year, nothing special. It had only ever served as a reminder of how lonely he was. 

“Merry Christmas, Harry!” He looked up from his soggy toast as Sally-Anne came bounding in, her hair done in an elaborate braid he’d never seen on her before. 

Hadrian offered her a small smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas, Sally-Anne,” he murmured in response, nudging over a plate of croissants and other pastries (he’d not seen her go without having at least two a single morning since they’d arrived at Hogwarts). Breakfast was spent with Sally-Anne chattering on about all the gifts her friends had given her and- did he know that hippogriffs were the product of cross-breeding between horses and actual griffins? 

“-and that’s when I told him that I’d marry him and we’d run away together to live amongst the muggles for the rest of our lives and have many piglet babies.” 

“Hm,” Hadrian hummed absentmindedly, taking a sip of his tea. He almost choked when Sally-Anne thwacked him on his arm. “What?”

“You weren’t listening to me!” she huffed before a pensive look took over her face. “Are you okay, Harry? You’ve been really out of it for the past month and...I’m worried.” 

Sally-Anne had her brows furrowed and lips turned down in an expression of true worry that made his heart do an awkward thump. He smiled at her, one of the few rare ones that he could must these days because Sally-Anne deserved so much more than fake smiles and platitudes. Still, it was his place to take care of her- she shouldn’t be worrying about him. 

“I’m fine, Sally-Anne,” he reassured, settling a hand on her arm and pushing a small amount of his magic into her. Her face eased instantly until she was blinding him with that soft, beaming smile. “I’ve got a lot to do but I’ll be fine.” 

Just then there was a flurry from above as the daily post came in. Hadrian wasn’t really expecting much apart from the occasional thank-you card from his circle so he wasn’t quite surprised when an owl landed on the table beside them. What _did_ surprise him was how beautiful she was. Her feathers were of the purest white and she had large, burning amber eyes that turned to take both him and Sally-Anne in as if judging them. The owl hooted then and stuck out her leg which had several letters tied to it. 

Sally-Anne was cooing at the bird as she untied the letters while Hadrian and the bird stared at each other. It cocked its head to the side and Hadrian nodded before offering it a small smile and gifting it with some bacon from his plate. 

“Ooh, Harry you seem really popular,” cajoled Sally-Anne as she handed over his stack of letters. He wrinkled his nose at that, glancing disinterestedly through the pile. Malfoy had sent over seasons greetings and was thanking him profoundly for the premium broom-care kit Hadrian had gotten him. The boy had also included a chocolate card which- after some puppy-dog eyes from Sally-Anne- he handed over. 

Theo’s letter was much more interesting. It seemed he really enjoyed the gift Hadrian had gotten him, a book called _Temporal Rewind_. It was a limited edition version with extra chapters on the replay effect and temporal reload. But what really interested him was Theo’s final paragraph. 

> _That man you wanted me to research, Nicolas Flamel? Well, he’s really quite famous. He’s an alchemist, but the last I heard he’d retired now. He made the Philosopher’s Stone. It can turn any metal into gold and is the only way of brewing the Elixir of Life. I know he was good friends with Dumbledore because the two of them worked on the project of devising 12 uses for Dragon blood and Father says they’re hypocrites because both of those things- experimenting on dragon blood and creating an immortality potion- are Dark. But of course he was a muggle-lover, even made quite a name for himself amongst them as a scribe and manuscript-seller in France. They managed to get wind of the Stone and the Ministry weren’t as well-established back then so the obliviators didn’t do much of a good job erasing mention of it in history._

Across from him, Sally-Anne made a strange noise. “Harry…”

He looked up, a smile already on his face, to see she was holding up the chocolate frog card. On it showed the moving picture of a man with a long white beard and sallow, pale skin. Beneath the man offering him a placid smile read _Nicolas Flamel_. 

Hadrian could only bark a laugh. “It seems we don’t have to look anymore.” 

The two of them spent the rest of the day relaxing in the Hufflepuff dorms. One of the Badger prefects was staying in the classroom and he’d caved instantly when faced with Sally-Anne _and_ Hadrian’s mournful faces. Together they played Exploding Snap and Gobblestones and Sally-Ane had even managed to get a deck of muggle cards so they could play a few rounds of Go Fish. The snowy owl turned out to be a present from Hagrid for the both of them, but Hadrian secretly knew that the owl would be more Sally-Anne’s than his. They suited each other, both so pure that the slightest sign of corruption would look alien on them. 

At about 2, they went down to enjoy the feast. Dumbledore was in his most garish, clashing red and neon green robes with a ridiculous paper crown fitted over his bright gold wizard’s hat. McGonagall was in her signature green, though these robes shimmered slightly and Flitwick wore robes of a royal, deep purple that rather complimented him and seemed to add an inch or so to his height. Snape, of course, wore black. 

The table they sat at that evening was large and round and filled with enough food to feed an army. There was turkey and lamb, roast potatoes and parsnip and macaroni cheese and thick, salty gravy. There were mistletoes hanging in the air and bells that tinkered randomly, a large fire in a conjured grate where the Head Table usually was that threw dancing shadows along the walls. Best of all, the ceiling was bewitched to sparkle and glitter and-- if Hadrian didn’t have such impeccable control of himself he’d have been a gaping mess like Sally-Anne beside him. 

For her part, the girl squealed and clapped her hands before flinging them around his neck and spinning. Hadrian couldn’t help but laugh along with her, ignored his fronted decorum and squeezed her tight as their laughs mingled and bounced off the walls. 

“It’s a merry Christmas this year, Sally-Anne,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her golden hair which was positively _glowing_ beneath all the lights. She turned large watery eyes to him and nodded, and for the first time, he really believed it.

* * *

Despite all the excitement of the day, sleep still didn’t come when Hadrian went to bed that night. He was exhausted and he’d already decided not to bother with any more research for the day- it had been a good one and he didn’t want the inevitable frustration to ruin it. 

But now he was staring at the underside of his canopy with a brain that wouldn’t shut up and shut off and his body filled now with a curious energy. He didn’t _want_ to be awake, but there was something pulling at him, something urging him to get up and move. 

He ignored it for two hours before he gave up and slipped on his shoes. As he went to get his winter cloak, he hesitated. Maybe he should try out his new one, the one his father’s friend had gifted to him. At least now, there weren’t many people in the castle, and he could find out with minimal consequences how well it worked before going on more daring trips about with it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to go looking for trouble, and he’d already mapped out the majority of the castle by now with his restless wanderings. 

Hadrian pulled the invisibility cloak out from his trunk and swung it on, pausing to look in the mirror before he left. All he saw an empty room so, with a smile, he set off. 

As the only Slytherin and with only two other Puffs staying in the castle, the dungeons were eerily silent, and his steps seemed to echo too loudly. He silenced his feet but wondered if a silencing spell could be woven into the fabric of the cloak like the invisibility one was. Could it be added on top or did it have to be woven in simultaneously? Would it require special knowledge? Hadrian resolved to look it up in his spare time.

(From the look of things, he wouldn’t be getting any spare time until the summer)

He let his feet carry him where they would, through winding corridors and down changing stairs, in and out of dusty classrooms and past whispering portraits. The urge to keep going tugged insistently at his chest and it didn’t relent until he pushed open a door.

At first, Hadrian thought it was just another unused classroom because the very walls seemed to be covered in an inch of dust. But as he stepped further into the room, he realised that it was too ornate with its great Greek columns to be a classroom. There were large windows dotted around the room, but hardly any light from the moon could filter in past the thick grime. Cobwebs hung from everything and dust swirled in the air, heavy and thick. In the corner stood a large mirror, easily some two feet taller than he was and as dusty and covered in cobwebs as everything else. It seemed like the It was bare, save for a single object that stood about a foot taller than him and covered in some kind of drapery. 

The tug flared up again and he stumbled closer to the thing and reached out to pull it off before he could even form the next thought. The fabric pooled on the floor at his feet and Hadrian was left blinking at the object before him. 

It was a mirror, large and round with an ornate design around the edge. At the top was an inscription which read _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._ It didn’t make any sense, nor did it sound like Latin so it couldn’t be a spell, so Hadrian had no idea what it meant. Maybe spells could be performed in other languages as well, where Latin wasn’t used. Could a spell spoken in Ancient Greek work the same way Latin did?

And then the image in the mirror changed and Hadrian found himself sitting on the floor before it, enraptured, all thoughts of Greek and spells and research pushed aside in favour of studying the images before him. 

Maybe, he thought as he leaned forward until his nose nearly brushed the glass. Maybe, he’ll sit there for a bit and watch the scene play out. Wasn’t it nice? 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

When one lived as long as Albus Dumbledore had, there came to be quite a few things one regrets. His association with Gellert was one of them, allowing Tom Riddle to grow into what he became was another, and most recently a third name was added to the list. 

Harry Potter. 

The boy’s life hadn’t gone at all to plan. For one, he was supposed to grow up with loving parents, hidden away from the wizarding world but with full knowledge of it. From the moment he’d heard Sybill’s prophecy Albus had planned and plotted and put things in place so that the war that ravaged their world would end as soon as possible and with the least amount of casualties. Too much magical blood had been spilt already, too many bloodlines wiped out and muggle-borns scared off from their already pathetically small numbers. 

The first war certainly had ended sooner than he’d thought, but the price was one he wished dearly they- mostly Harry- didn’t have to pay. James and Lily Potter had been two of his best Order members, young and powerful and full of so much life that he’d hardly believed it when news had come that they’d died at Tom’s wand. 

Albus still remembered how small Harry had been then when Hagrid had handed him a bundle of cloth and warmth. The mild sleeping spell Hagrid had cast on the infant had been easily shrugged off and Harry had stared up at him with those wide, glittering green eyes with an expression far too mature for a baby. 

He wasn’t happy at having to leave the boy with the Dursleys and knew that there was a chance that he’d be resented and treated perhaps slightly differently from Petunia’s own son, but Albus’ main priority had been keeping Harry safe. The boy may have been able to get rid of Tom that fateful night but he would undoubtedly be back, whether it be in five years or ten, and in the meantime, he had enough loyal servants who would gladly kill the boy who’d proved to be so dangerous. 

Now, ten years and two months later, Albus’ sorrow and regrets had reached new heights. It had been like going back fifty years into the past when he’d followed Severus to that orphanage and seen a pale, dark-haired child with the innocence of all the angels in Heaven. It was uncanny how similar Harry and Tom were in how they grew up, and their natures seemed almost parallel as well. He was powerful, like Albus had known Tom would be, but there was more than just that to the boy. 

It wasn’t until after Petunia’s blunder in the office that Albus recognized it. The darkness that swathed the boy, the magic that seemed sentient and brooding and hungry had tugged at his subconscious for months but it wasn’t until Albus saw the dark, mist-like tendrils of magic that stretched across the length of the office to envelop Petunia that he recognized it. 

Somehow, in the ten-year period since Albus had last seen the boy, something must have happened; something dark and drastic and traumatising enough to cause an Obscurus to form. 

Delving into Petunia’s mind had revealed exactly what had happened for the three years she’d allowed her sister’s son to live in her house. Albus waded through three years of memories of their neglect for Harry, their scorn and anger and hatred and _cruelty_. Never, since his parting with Gellert in 1927, had he questioned whether wizards were better than muggles in any way but the Dursleys managed to test even that. 

Still, what’s done is done and all he could do was damage management. Harry had already Sorted Slytherin, which wasn’t quite what Albus had had in mind for him but it was something that could be worked with. After all, it would take a cunning mind to foil one so scrupulous as Tom. Maybe Harry could even work in the snake pit to turn support away from the fallen Dark Lord. 

What he had to make sure of now was Harry’s loyalty and dedication to the Light. With an Obscurus residing in the boy, and all the fame of his name and scar, he was perhaps one of the most powerful wizards yet, and the boy hadn’t even reached his majority. If the Dark got their hands on such a weapon, losing the war would be the least of their problems. The world would be plunged into a darkness of the likes never seen before. 

Albus had sworn when he saw what Gellert had grown into, the panic and pain and fear that he spread, that he’d never let another person wield such power again. It was unfortunate, but power was a difficult thing to turn down and nobody (save himself) had proved themself able to. 

It was with this in mind (the _greater good_ ) that he watched as Harry travelled night and day for the remainder of his Christmas holidays to the room housing the Mirror of Erised and sat before it for hours on end. He didn’t say much, never revealed what it was exactly that he was seeing, but the boy seemed enraptured; and what more fascinating to an orphan who grew up unloved than the sight of his parents? It was likely Harry’s first time seeing his parents, and in a mirror no less. 

Albus could only hope that the subconscious seed was planted; if Harry looked in the mirror and saw his parents, perhaps he’d strive every day to be more and more like them, to one day become their perfect _mirror_. Because if he could think like that, could _become_ that…

Albus was drawn away from his musings when he noticed another figure enter the room. It was New Years Night and the rest of the students were supposed to be arriving the next day, which meant a lot of the staff were getting a final night’s peaceful rest. 

Except, apparently, Severus. 

The man halted when he was some ways from Harry and Albus both, and while the elderly man hoped that he wasn’t noticed, stood so still beneath a strong Disillusionment Charm, when Severus threw a mutinous glare at him all such hopes were foiled. 

“Potter,” he called in a low, somewhat soothing voice that surprised Albus. He had expected the man to be his usual, prickly self but apparently he and Harry had a better relationship than he’d initially thought. He’d have to check up on that later. 

Harry’s shoulders stiffened but he didn’t look away from whatever he was seeing in the mirror. Instead, after a moment or two of stillness and when Severus opened his mouth to speak again, Harry said, “What do you see, Professor?” His voice was small, smaller even than when Dumbledore had visited him first at the orphanage. “What’s your heart's desire?” 

Albus was shocked, but no more than Severus apparently because the man’s infallible mask cracked. He stared at his snake for a moment longer before he walked around to where he could see Harry’s face and studied him closely. 

Harry did look rather...poorly, Albus supposed. What little flesh he’d put on in the first two months since coming to the castle he’d lost rather rapidly in the last month and a half, even more so in the past week since he’d been visiting the mirror. Whereas before Harry had at the very least a polite smile for everyone, nowadays it seemed Perks could pull only the barest hint of one at the few snatched moments that he made an appearance at breakfast or dinner. 

In short, the boy looked horrible. 

“You won’t be coming back here,” Severus said at last when he’d looked his fill. He sniffed and waved his wand, conjuring a large sheet which he summarily draped over the mirror without looking into it too much. “Men greater than you have wasted away much as you do now.” 

Harry smiled at that, though it wasn’t a very nice one. There were too many teeth. 

“I couldn’t stop. Something about it...it wouldn’t let me go.” There was frustration in the boy’s voice as his brow furrowed. Severus didn’t say anything to that, simply sending Albus another glare. 

(The Headmaster noted that Severus acted much the same way Pomona did whenever one of her Badgers were the victims of a Weasley Twin prank- that is, prickly and ready to maul for her little Puff)

“You are aware of what the mirror does, Potter. It isn’t real. I will ensure that it is moved after tonight and you are not, under any circumstances, to go searching for it. Is that clear?” 

Harry remained unresponsive for the longest while, blinking absently at the cloth-covered mirror before he nodded slowly. “Yes, Professor. Good night, and happy new year.” Then, without another word, he gathered up the invisibility cloak and left, not bothering to put the thing on. 

Albus waited patiently from where he stood in the corner. Perhaps Severus _hadn’t_ seen him and it was by mere coincidence that the man had been shooting murderous glares in his direction the whole time-

“You _bastard_!” the dark-haired man snarled, and he was waving his wand and cancelling Albus’ Disillusionment Charm in seconds. Albus blinked at him and was starkly reminded at that moment that Severus had been a highly valued and feared _Inner Circle_ member of Tom’s and it wasn’t for no reason. 

Severus’ dark eyes were glittering with disgust of such magnitude that not even the most incompetent first-year brew could summon. Though all the windows were closed in the room, his robes billowed in their trademark way from sheer magic. 

“Now, Severus, I’m quite sure that my parents were happily married when they-” 

“Don’t!” Severus shouted, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare, Albus. How can you do that to the boy? Have you seen the state of him?” 

At this, Albus could only sigh. “Of course I have. It was not my intention to see young Harry suffer, I hope you know. I take my responsibility as his magical guardian quite seriously-” Severus snorted and turned from him, placing his hands on his hips. “-but it is my duty to the rest of wizarding Britain that I don’t allow another Tom to grow within Hogwarts’ walls.” 

This time the younger man could only gape at him wordlessly, his face cycling through too many emotions to make sense of. Finally, Severus draws himself up, sneering nastily at Albus as he tucks his wand back into its holster on his forearm (strategically placed, Albus suspects, to hide the damning evidence on the skin it covers). 

“You may be concerned solely with your manipulations for the _greater good_ ,” Severus sneers, “but it is a cold day in hell when _I_ care more for the welfare of a student than you do.”

With those chilling, cutting words, he sweeps out. 

Albus sighs again, and it is as if the weight of the world has sat itself on his shoulders. He just shakes his head and goes over to the mirror and pulls the cover off, letting a small smile tip the corners of his lips up. 

“Hello, Arianna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...how was it? 
> 
> I know a lot of you were expecting for more from Severus and that his reaction to Hadrian's Obscurus is not really expressed here but it comes next chapter, I just couldn't fit it in very well here without messing up the order. But there was Albus, so what're your thoughts? 
> 
> Now, in terms of updates, at this point it's just going to have to be when I've got the time. I'll try for at least once a week but I make no promises, with term picking up and all. 
> 
> As usual, drop a kudo and comment, I love to hear from you all.


	14. Before the Shooting of the Arrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, another week, another chapter. There'll be one- maybe two- more before Hadrian's First Year is over! I'll see you guys at the bottom.

_Clarity is the counterbalance of profound thoughts  
-Luc de Clapiers_

Hadrian strangled an irritated noise as the owl hooted again beside him. Instead, he pressed harder with his quill, which only resulted in horrible blotting, and his vanishing skills were still somewhat spotty so he had to get a completely fresh sheet of parchment to write on. 

To his right, Theo glanced up from where he was writing his own Charms essay to glance askance at the white owl who had hopped from the window sill to sit in the middle of their table. “You going to get that?” he asked, eyeing the bird warily. 

“No,” Hadrian replied tersely, resolutely not looking up. Hedwig, as Sally-Anne had named her, took immediate offence to this and hopped forward to peck at his fingers. He considered sending a stunner at her (he’d learned how to do that last week with Snape) but figured Sally-Anne wouldn’t be particularly happy with him if he did. 

It turned out that he needn’t have bothered trying to avoid the golden-haired girl’s ire because hardly two minutes after he had the thought Sally-Anne stormed into the library and found he and Theo’s hidden table within moments. 

“Harry!” the girl hissed in a whisper-shout, “I have been _trying_ to contact you for days and you keep ignoring me!” 

(Theo had to duck his head to hide his smile at the utter bafflement on Hadrian’s face)

“What? No I haven’t. I spoke to you at breakfast today-”

“No, you stood there and nodded even when I told you that I’d be having piglet babies- _again_!” Hadrian blinked at her and was sorely tempted to question her fascination with those animals in particular but figured she’d probably not appreciate it. “You haven’t said anything to me for weeks now- since Christmas Day. Did I...did I do something?” 

Hadrian felt something tug at his gut, something similar to the anger he’d had when he’d heard that Sally-Anne was in the infirmary but less righteous. 

(Was this what they called guilt? If so it was horrid and he never wanted to feel it again)

“No, Sally-Anne,” he said, standing to wrap his arms around her. Hadrian wasn’t really one for hugs but she was and it tended to make her feel better for some reason. “Of course not. Not you- _never_ you.” 

She pulled back to look him in the eyes for a long moment and, satisfied, she nodded, sighing into his neck. 

Theo watched with wide hazel eyes, taking in the way Hadrian enveloped Perks and held her to his chest, the way that his fingers glowed slightly as they ran up and down her sides. The hug was innocent and intimate all at the same time and it roused a longing in him of kinds he hasn’t felt since he realised that it wasn’t his lot in life to have a father who cared more for his son than his latest experiment or a mother who was alive. 

“What did you want to talk to me about, Sally-Anne?” Hadrian asked when the two finally separated. The Hufflepuff brightened up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Hagrid sent me a note the other day saying that he thinks the big reveal will be any day now and just this morning he sent a note.” She untied the note hanging from Hedwig’s outstretched claw and handed it to Hadrian before turning her attention to the preening owl. 

Hadrian furrowed his brow as he read the note. 

> _It’s hatching_. 

“Well, good for him?” he glanced up at Sally-Anne who rolled her eyes. “Are you going to go see it?”

“No, _we_ are going to see it. After dinner- which is starting now so the two of you pack up and let’s go.” 

Theo decided as they packed their things and headed to the Great Hall that he much preferred Perks when she was silent and clinging to Hadrian. It was equal parts weird and slightly terrifying to see her snap commands at them. 

Dinner was a subdued affair and it was rather clear that Hadrian would prefer to be almost anywhere but listening to Malfoy prattle on about the Falmouth Falcons’ newest win over the Chudley Cannons. 

“-and, did you see his _play,_ Hadrian?” 

Hadrian didn’t even look up from the book he had perched on his lap. “No.” 

Malfoy looked stunned for a moment and glanced at Theo who just shook his head slightly. Malfy shrugged and turned to Millicent, but the noise level around them remained low. Ever since they’d come back from Yule, Hadrian’s temper and patience had been rather short with everybody. 

If he wasn’t in the library studying then he was with Snape doing-- _something_ and if not that then the boy seemed to just disappear. One time, Theo followed Hadrian up to their dorm when he turned in early but by the time he got there, there was no sight of him. 

Runcorn hadn’t ceased in her campaign to slander or undermine him and Theo knew that if Hadrian wanted to keep his position as First Prince then he’d need to deal with her soon. Already he’d seen Blaise speaking with Parkinson and Runcorn had sat next to Daphne in History the other day. All of the Slytherins had looked to Hadrian then but he didn’t seem to have noticed, not with his head stuck in the pages of a book. 

It couldn’t go on. Theo wouldn’t _allow_ it to go on. 

Dinner ended and soon he and Hadrian were heading out of the castle with Perks bouncing on the tips of her toes. Hadrian had thrown him a questioning glance before shrugging and going back to fiddling with some fancy bracelet (Theo suspected that Malfoy had sent it) but since he didn’t stop him from coming so Theo counted it as a win. 

They’d just started on the walk to Hagrid’s cabin when they heard someone call for Perks. “Sally-Anne, hold on!” 

Hadrian looked up from his bracelet and watched as a blond boy came jogging out of the castle and towards them. Sally-Anne was frowning as she watched him coming, her shoulders hunching slightly as she shifted closer to his side. Theo was watching on with blank hazel eyes. 

The boy- Zacharias Smith if Hadrian remembered correctly (he’d noted him to be of value interest due to the boy’s claim as descended from Helga Hufflepuff herself)- smiled widely as he stood before them. “I thought I told you to wait for me?” Smith shot a cross between a sneer and a false smile at the golden-haired girl who only ducked her chin and stared at her shoes. 

Hadrian narrowed his eyes at the boy, brushing a hand down Sally-Anne’s arm before shifting so that she was behind him. “I don’t think we’ve ever spoken before,” he said coolly. Smith sniffed in a manner that reminded Hadrian greatly of Malfoy. 

“Yes, I know. You really should take better care in who you associate with, you know, but you’re only a half-blood so I’ll excuse you.” 

Hadrian blinked at him. “Excuse me?” 

“Yes, that’s what I said. Now, where are we off to?” 

Nobody answered him for a while until Theo cleared his throat. “I suspect, Hadrian,” he began in that soft way of his, “that if we threw a stick in the opposite direction it would make chase and leave us in peace.” Theo sniffed then, hazel eyes bright as he turned his back on Smith. 

For his part, Hadrian couldn’t stop his mouth from curling into a delighted smile. “Yes, though it may just be too dumb to understand even that. Sally-Anne, does the poor thing have such episodes often?” 

The golden-haired girl at his side looked up at him with wide eyes, flicking them between her Housemate and Hadrian before she lifted her chin and straightened. “All-too-often, Hadrian. Perhaps he ought to take a trip to the infirmary.” 

Warmth bloomed in his chest as he watched Sally-Anne stare down the blond boy, whose mouth hadn’t shut from its open gape from when Theo spoke. His smile was bigger now, unmistakable, with perhaps too many teeth to be considered nice but he didn’t much care. 

It took hardly more than a twitch of his fingers before his yew wand flew into his hand and he twirled it between his fingers. “Now, Smith, I may be _only a half-blood_ but I’m sure I can do something to cure you of that damnable tongue of yours.” 

Smith spluttered, his face a ripe, burning red as he balled his hands into fists. “How dare you! Do you have any idea of who I am? _I_ am descended from the great Helga Hufflepuff herself and you have no business speaking to me like that you filthy mudbl-”

Hadrian blinked as he watched a jet of green light hit the boy mid-speech before he sneezed and something-- no, _several_ somethings flew out of his nose. By his side, Sally-Anne had her wand levelled at the panicking Smith, who was adding his own shrieks to those from the bats flapping out of his nose. When she noticed his staring, she straightened and slipped it back into her pocket, straightening out her robes. 

“I really hate that word,” she said simply, before turning and starting for Hagrid’s hut. 

The half-giant was happy to see them, though he paused momentarily at the sight of Theo before ushering them in. “He’s ‘bout ter hatch. Si’ at ther table and I’ll take him off the fire.” 

Hadrian could see Theo looking about the cabin with wide eyes, and from the set of his lips and a slight furrowing of his brow, he could tell that the forming opinion was sub-par. He laid a hand on Theo’s arm, catching his eyes and inclining his head to the table. After a moment the boy sighed and nodded, dropping into a massive chair beside him. 

Sally-Anne was bouncing around in her seat, grinning widely as she chatted with Hagrid about how big Norwegian Ridgebacks grew to be and did he hear about the research project into cross-breeding them with Hungarian Horntails?

Hagrid pottered back over to the table where he set the dark egg in the centre, ignoring the way it made the wood of the table hiss and sizzle. While they waited, Hagrid spoke to them about how they were enjoying school and some inane talk about favourite classes and whatnot. Theo didn’t contribute much, just stared intently at the large black egg before them. 

There was a cracking sound that interrupted them and they all watched as the egg cracked and caved before a small, scaly head poked out and wailed. “It’s hatching!” squealed Sally-Anne (rather unnecessarily considering they could all see that, but Hadrian figured she was excited and happy so it was fine). 

Sally-Anne and Hagrid wasted no time in cooing at the thing, stroking their hands down its head and along its wings, making sure not to nick themself on the claw-tipped ends. The dragon sneezed and out of its snout shot fire which caused the tips of Hagrid’s beard to catch. Hadrian just watched on in mild disinterest as they made baby noises at the dragon- which only hissed and burped another plume of flames into their face. 

(He wondered if neither of them could hear the warbled grumblings of the young thing asking for food but shrugged it off)

“You’re aware of what they eat, aren’t you?” Theo asked, and while he didn’t seem able to bring himself to say the man’s name it was clearly directed at Hagrid. The half-giant nodded, before heaving a heavy bucket from near the fire. 

“Buckets of chicken blood mixed with brandy should do it!” he stated proudly, beaming down at the squealing, slimy creature on the table. It seemed to have some difficulty extracting itself from its shell, so Hadrian waved his wand and vanished it. Sally-Anne was smiling so hard Hadrian imagined her cheeks must hurt and Theo had taken some paper out of his pocket and held it up to the creature. Then, carefully, he prodded it’s side, ignoring Hagrid’s protestation. 

The dragon opened its mouth and a plume of fire emerged, longer than its first, and quite a bit hotter too. Hadrian imagined that while it probably wouldn’t roast anyone, it could probably cause up to third-degree burns which was quite impressive considering its birth not five minutes ago. 

“So have you spoken to Dumbledore about it yet?” he asked after a while. All the cooing was adding to the headache he’d been sporting since-- well, it hadn’t gone away since before the break. He rubbed absently at his scar. 

“Well, I--I mean, ‘s not _really_ all tha’ important so I figured, you know…” 

Hadrian gave a tired sigh. Theo sat up in alarm. “Wait, the Headmaster _doesn’t know_ that you’re harbouring a _dragon_ in this- on the school grounds?” He looked around at them all, and Hadrian could only give a tired shrug in response. “That’s a man-eating beast! This is a _school_ -”

“Norbert isn’t a beast! He’s just a baby, he knows who his mommy is, don’t you Norbert?” The man promptly dissolved into baby-talk. With a dragon. 

Theo groaned and put his head in his hands before turning to his friend. “Hadrian, we can’t be here or involved in this. If someone finds out we’ll get into huge trouble. Dragon breeding outside of designated reserves is _illegal_ and I can’t afford for-” 

“Relax, Theo,” Hadrian soothed, placing a hand on Theo’s arm to calm the boy. His fingers sparked with magic and instantly Theo’s breathing calmed and his eyes weren’t as wide. “We’ll get it sorted. Sally-Anne knows someone who works on a reserve and is willing to come to take- er- _Norbert_ to a reserve. It’ll all be fine.” He smiled, and it wasn’t one of his too-wide ones or his distantly fake one. It was small, hardly more than a tick of his lips, but true. 

The moment was trampled over by the sound high-pitched squeals outside and a sudden thump against the side of the hut. They all looked up and there, just outside of the small window, they could make out the head of blond hair running back to the castle, their yellow and black robes flapping in the wind. 

Smith had seen the dragon. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Hadrian closed his eyes tight and took several deep breaths before reopening them. His head was pounding, pulsing waves of agony spreading through his skull until it seemed to radiate all through his body. 

He didn’t have time to focus on this, on pain, on anything other than getting stronger. Just that morning in Defense, Quirrell had been showing them how to produce red sparks to ward off Gytrash when his stuttering had changed the incantation and instead sent a volley of spells in his direction. Hadrian barely had enough time to jump out of the way before the spells hit the wall behind him, flames flickering and dying out. There was the faint scent of burning hair and Hadrian had to flick his fingers for the singed ends of his hair to grow back to their original length. 

Ever since, his head- which had been smarting at a low, manageable level for months- had turned into a raging inferno of pain. At lunch, he’d pressed his fingers against his scar and pulled back to see them dotted with blood. 

“I have given you time to come to me with whatever it is that has been distracting you,” said Snape from the other side of the room. The man’s face was carefully blank, and Hadrian supposed he was hiding his derision rather better than he ever did for the Gryffindors in class. Snape was a powerful man, and powerful people didn’t have time to wait for others to catch up. 

Hadrian felt his nails biting into his palm (despite the fact that he’d taken care to cut his nails when Theo noticed the crescent-shaped scars yesterday). 

“I would think that by now I would have proved myself at least somewhat better than the sorry excuses for adults you’d had the misfortune of knowing before.” Snape continued and punctuated the sentence with a raised brow. Hadrian didn’t say anything, choosing instead to look away at the walls- though that didn’t seem to be much better considering they were decorated with dozens of snakes, all of whom were hissing about the ‘ _young hatchling whose anger makes him weak’_. 

Snape came closer then and said something that made the blood in Hadrian’s veins turn to ice. “I know that this has something to do with Quirrell.” 

“No,” he blurted, too quickly. “I...I’m not _scared_ of him,” he sneered, ignoring the way the snakes hissed in laughter. “I’m not!” 

“I am very much aware of the duality of Quirrell’s nature, Hadrian,” Snape soothed, and suddenly his voice was like dark chocolate and whiskey (though Hadrian had never drunk alcohol before). It lulled him into contentment, but only for a moment before the memories of choking on nothing and pressing magic darker than the one now curled before him. Snape didn’t seem to realise his impending panic attack though, and simply continued in that strangely soothing voice, “The Headmaster refuses to remove him but I know what he is and I won’t let him-”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Hadrian screamed at last because the snakes’ hissing laughter and taunting words were too loud, Snape’s promises too heavy for a man in it only for himself and the pressure on his chest too heavy, too dark, _too much_. 

For a moment he couldn’t think or see or feel anything beyond his own fury and frustration which seemed to explode out of him. The snakes stopped their hissing and Snape’s words cut off with a choked sound and for a single second-- half, maybe-- there was _peace_.

Slowly, the world returned to normal, but by then he’d already fled their practice room. 

Severus heard the distant sound of the portrait closing behind the boy, but it wasn’t for several more moments that he was able to suck in a gasping breath of air. He retched and dry heaved as the heavy magic that had immobilized him and sucked all the oxygen out of the room left, snapping back to the boy like a rubber band. 

This was getting out of hand. Hadrian’s control over the Obscurus residing within him was slipping and it made him dangerous to everyone around him, not to mention himself. 

Severus hadn’t known what to think, up there in the Headmaster’s office when the boy had directed a glare with such glacial hatred at the muggle woman he should have grown up with. One moment he had been Hadrian with his blank smiles, mocking but distant eyes and unassuming words and the next he’d morphed into a murderous cherub intent on destroying anything in his path. 

Really, this shouldn’t have ever happened. Hadrian shouldn’t be _possible_. He was supposed to grow up as spoiled as every other Potter before him had, already born into life with a silver spoon in his gumless mouth and catered to like the prince he was. 

He was supposed to come to Hogwarts as the arrogant, unbearable, stupid Boy-Who-Lived and wreak havoc upon unsuspecting students with vile pranks and mean words. 

Instead, they’d gotten an abandoned orphan with no knowledge of the wizarding world and apathy that stemmed from a powerful and hidden Obscurus. 

Severus had never thought that he’d encounter an actual Obscurial in his lifetime; it was believed that with the changing of the times people were no longer so cruel to their own or other children, especially not for being different. Muggles would know that a child was _other_ but the waning powers of the Church meant that people weren’t so quick to judge or persecute. 

But while he’d never thought he’d meet one, he’d always been aware of what Obscurials were- if only to ensure that he himself never became one. Living with Tobias Snape had been reason enough to suppress one’s magic, but he had always been cautious with it. He carefully selected moments when to relinquish his tenuous hold on his magic and relished in the stolen moments of freedom. 

Potter though...he was smart and had undoubtedly worked out that he was different from very young. It was an abused muggle-borns ignorance that saved them from turning into the warped, Dark thing that Potter had become, but Severus imagined that it didn’t take much for him to work out just how different he was from the others he lived with, especially given the vile words spewed at him on a daily basis.

The Headmaster hadn’t permitted him to use Legilimency on Petunia when she was in the office so he’d visited the Dursley family in their cookie-cutter neighbourhood and home and done it then. 

From the moment that she realised the child left on her doorstep was the offspring of her magical sister and her rich husband, Petunia had vowed to hate the boy. In her mind, she felt cheated out of everything while Lily got what was rightfully hers. _She_ was the older sister, so _she_ should have the magic and the right to attend a fantastical school with owls and feasts and magic.

And then she went and got married to lout like Vernon while Lily got her Prince Charming, the handsome and charismatic and funny James Potter who had a jawline that could cut glass and a smile that could power a neighbourhood. 

It hadn’t been _fair_. 

And just because her stupid bint of a sister had gone and got herself blown up meddling with people more powerful than her, Petunia had gotten sicced with the unnatural child with eyes too bright to be normal and a face more angelic than her own pudgy son. 

What Severus had seen the woman do to the boy- allowed to be done to him- for the next three years was enough to make him reconsider joining Voldemort.

Those muggles were _vile_. Their treatment of their own family- flesh and blood that two of the three Dursleys shared- had been worse than Lucius of his house elf. It was no wonder that the boy had figured out that he had magic. The fat lout of a husband had banned the word the first time he’d heard Potter mention it while reading in his cupboard ( _cupboard!_ ) and sentenced him to three days no food for the infraction. Then there was Petunia muttering about having nothing _freakish_ happening in her house, and that he was lucky she didn’t leave him in an alley for _his kind_ to find or kill. 

It was people like Petunia and Vernon Dursley that made Severus want to don his Death Eater garb again and enjoy a good Dark Revel. 

At the very least, it made Severus think that what the boy did to Petunia when he saw her in Albus’ office tame in comparison to what _he_ would have done. 

It appeared that while Hadrian had immense control over the Obscurus residing in him for him not to have given any indication that he’d had it before, and while Severus was glad to know that, it was also one of the most terrifying things. 

There was a case about an eighteen-year-old boy with control over his Obscurus during Grindelwald’s reign of terror- Kevin? Craig? Credence, it was Credence- but even he slipped quite a bit and caused some major destruction. If Potter could control it so well at this age, could command such volatile magic so effortlessly, what _wouldn’t_ he be able to do? 

Still, there was something weighing him down now. There was a perpetual mist that hung about him like a cloud and thickened with every passing day. If he couldn’t retain control over his emotions and magic, the entire school would be in danger and none of them stood a chance of standing up to the Obscurus that resided within Harry bloody Potter. Whatever pressure he’d been put under (or put _himself_ under) had caused and Severus had never seen the boy’s scar look so inflamed. 

_Perhaps_ , he mused as he regained his breath and straightened his robes. Perhaps he ought to start on some etiquette training with the boy. Mastery over his emotions and reactions would go a long way into subduing his Obscurus. 

Plus, Severus had never worked with an Obscurial before. Maybe there was a potion that could contain the magic? Would the same work on Dementors? After all, their magics are rather similar. 

Severus hummed to himself as he clambered to his feet. Still, there was something that needed to be done before any of that. Potter would never give up his quest for power if there was still a threat to his life in the school. 

Quirrell would have to be dealt with. 

* * *

When Hadrian stopped at the Hufflepuff table the next morning, he noticed that there seemed to be some kind of divide amongst the first years. Sally-Anne was slightly more subdued, surrounded by Abbott, Bones, one Wayne Hopkins and the other Smith- a girl with hair not dissimilar from the disagreeable boy’s but a much less unfortunate nose and teeth that protruded slightly. There was a small space between them and the other group which consisted of Smith with Macmillian, Megan Jones and Roger Malone. All three were sending Hadrian and Sally-Anne nasty smiles, to which Hadrian promptly ignored him and whispered hurriedly with Sally-Anne. 

“I can’t speak to Weasley tonight,” she whispered frantically. “I’ve got a review session with Professor Flitwick because I’m having some trouble with the locking spell.” 

Hadrian sighed. He’d not wanted to be the one to approach the Gryffindor, partly because Granger hadn’t stopped shooting him suspicious glances while mooning over Theo and partly because the redhead was _loud_ and _crass_ and unforgivingly boorish. 

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll deal with it. Chances are we’ll need to wait a while to get a reply, but I’ll borrow Malfoy’s owl. And yes,” he added, cutting her off before she could even start, “I know that the Great Horned Owl are the fastest owls. That’s why I’ll use one.” 

Sally-Anne made a face. “How did you know I was thinking that? I wasn’t even going to _say_ it.” He levelled her with a look that just made her blush. “Whatever. I’ll see you at the library tonight. You can help me with my Transfiguration.” 

Hadrian turned to the Gryffindor table with a small smile, thinking about how much her last statement sounded like a demand. 

The table of Lions was even more chaotic up close than it had looked from across the Great Hall. They were all so noisy, competing to be heard over each other and parcels that seemed to spontaneously combust. There was one person calling stakes for a bet and another wailing about some locked heart and their smile (which Hadrian didn’t even want to think about). 

Before he could get much closer, there was a sudden bang, and his vision was invaded by someone-- or, two _identical_ someones. 

“By golly, Forge,” began the one on the left. “Are my eyes deceiving me?” 

“I think not, Gred,” answered the other, smiling as broadly as the first. “It really is-”

 _“The great Harry Potter_ ,” they said in unison. Hadrian just blinked at them, glancing back at the Hufflepuff table to see Sally-Anne giving him the thumbs up and nodding vigorously. 

(Over her shoulder, at the Slytherin table, Theo was sat with his head in his hands)

“Um, yes. Though I suspect the two of you may give me a run for my money in the infamy department.” He settled for a slightly mischievous smile, and when just as sly grins slid onto their faces at the exact same time, Hadrian knew he was lucky to be dealing with _these_ Weasleys than the other one. He was well-versed in navigating sly and cunning waters but fools he had no patience with. 

“Ah,” said the one on the right, “I believe _someone_ may want to procure our services, Forge.” The other one nodded but said nothing, only smiling in that slightly creepy way. 

“Well it’s quite delicate,” Hadrian started. “Can we speak somewhere more...private?” 

The twins looked at each other and had some sort of split-second silent conversation before they nodded. “Sure. Come with us.” Hadrian found himself sandwiched between two redheads and towed from the Great Hall. They walked for quite a while, down winding corridors and through passageways he didn’t know existed before they stopped finally and pushed open the door to a dusty, disused classroom. 

One of them hopped onto a desk, ignoring how dusty it was while the other leaned against his brother’s knees and crossed his arms. “Okay then, O Great One, what can we help you with?” 

Hadrian considered them for a moment but decided that they were relatively harmless. While Weasley Twins Pranks could have a rather cruel streak they were apparently bound by their Gryffindor sense of honour. 

“It’s for Hagrid, actually,” he answered. 

“ _Hagrid?_ ” 

“Yes, the Gameskeeper? He lives in the hut down-” 

“We know who Hagrid is-”

“And where he lives-”

“And what he drinks-”

“Like a fish, he does.” 

“A great big one.” 

Hadrian only stares in confusion at the two of them, a mix of frustration and amusement. “Right,” he says slowly before shaking his head. “Anyway, Hagrid has a slight...problem. And he needs your help. Otherwise, he’ll likely be thrown into Azkaban.” 

The twins grinned at each other before turning back to him. 

“ _Do go on_.”

Half-an-hour later and a very frustrated Hadrian pushed open the door to the Transfiguration classroom, sliding into his seat just as McGonagall called his name on the register. It had taken him twice as long to find the Transfiguration classroom as it had taken for the twins to show him to that secluded spot, and Hadrian was none too amused by the sharp glance the professor shot him. 

In fact, his soured mood carried on all through the rest of class, and it was only because he had more control over his magic than his peers that he managed to change his mouse into a snuffbox (though to be honest he didn’t see why they didn’t just conjure one instead. Was it ethical to essentially ‘kill’ a mouse just because you needed a snuffbox?). 

At the end of the lesson even the Ravenclaws who he usually discussed magical theory with were avoiding him and Runcorn was making more disparaging comments about him. “I’m assuming,” he growled as he whirled on the girl. They were in an empty corridor that led from the Transfiguration classroom back down to the dungeons for their free period. “That your petty attempts at insulting me are a rather poorly concealed way of begging for my attention. You’ll find that tonight in the common room you will be my sole focus.” 

He gave her a smile that was languorous and sexy with an undeniably predatory undertone which made the hairs on her arm stand up before he turned and caught the stairs just before they changed. 

He didn’t really have a destination in mind as he walked, fighting to control the dark urge to _rip_ and _burn_ and _destroy_. His hands were shaking and his breaths were coming too quick and- if he still knew where the mirror was he would sit in front of it until his breathing evened out and everything was okay again. As it was, the stairs had taken him only a floor away from the library, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to get in some extra studying, which is where Theo, Tracey and Daphne found him hours later when lunch rolled around. 

“This has to stop, Hadrian,” Daphne said rather sternly as she sat opposite him, flicking her hair over her shoulder and levelling her teal eyes at him seriously. He raised a brow, straightening from where he was hunched over a dusty tome. 

“Stop what, exactly? Last I checked the purpose of schools was to learn.” 

She scowled at him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The House is getting restless. You should have put Runcorn in her place _weeks_ ago but you’ve let it slide for too long. The only reason you snapped at her was that you were in a _bad mood_ ,” she sneered, and for the first time, it seemed like she was reconsidering her affiliation with him. 

Hadrian didn’t bother masking the dark look that shadowed his features. “I’ve had bigger threats than that _rat_ to deal with. Her words mean nothing-”

“Of course they mean something!” she whisper-shouted, slamming a hand on the desk. Theo shifted slightly in his seat beside Hadrian and Tracey shot a worried glance at where Madame Pince was peering over at them from her desk. Daphne ignored them all and continued. “They mean something because she’s been undermining you from the very start and you’ve done nothing. I heard two third-years saying the other day that your defeat of Malfoy was a fluke. You’ve been reduced to a laughing stock.” 

Hadrian fumed, glaring hotly at her before Tracey chimed in. “You know we’re right, Hadrian. Didn’t you hear what Flint said the night of your duel? _We all know of royalty who lost their crowns_.” 

Nobody said anything further for several moments before Hadrian nodded. “Alright,” he said, pressing his palms into the table. “I appreciate all of your...concern. I have let things slip too far but that will be rectified, I assure you.” He gave them a faint, wintry smile that was infinitely more genuine than the broad ones he offered freely. 

Daphne didn’t say anything even when Tracey smiled at him and Theo patted his arm. Her eyes were narrowed on him, evaluating and calculating. “You can’t afford to mess this up, Hadrian. Not only are you heir to House of Black but you’re the Boy-Who-Lived in Slytherin.” 

Her unspoken words were twice as heavy as the ones that hung in the air.

* * *

The common room was unusually full for a Wednesday night. It was a well-known fact that the Gryffindor quidditch team held their practices on Wednesday evenings, which meant that Flint usually had a few poor lower-years scoping out the Lions’ techniques and strategies (even if they had already played and won against the team for the year- Wood was a damn good strategist and they could use it against Ravenclaw). 

But apparently the fifth-year chose to forego the unofficial spying ritual in lieu of witnessing the First Prince punish his subordinate. Really, Marcus was expecting for Potter to have done this weeks ago, when Runcorn had gone snarking about him and his flying. Potter’s silence didn’t make it any better, and while Marcus could understand that the boy probably didn’t even see her as a threat, he was letting her run roughshod all over his reputation. 

Still, better late than never, and there hadn’t been half as many interesting duels that year. For some reason (though he could probably guess at a few) the Headmaster had been paying closer attention to the House of Snakes than ever. They’d all been denied their entertainment for the past few months and Yule hadn’t heralded any new gossip. 

Bets had been made and speculations flew as they all gathered in their groups. Gemma had just thrown her legs over his as Terence and Adrian flopped onto the couch beside him when the entrance opened and the boy they’d all been waiting for stepped through. 

A hush fell over the room. Runcorn extracted herself from the corner she and Parkinson had been residing in ever since Malfoy’s defeat in September and met Potter in the middle of the room. 

“So,” she began, smiling broadly, “poor Potter has finally got the balls to confront me, huh?”

Potter smiled one of his vacant, dangerous smiles. “I’m sure it would be amusing to hear you wax poetic about me all evening, but I’m rather tired of hearing you speak. Why don’t you shut up.” His pale wand was in his hand in an instant, aimed straight at the dark-skinned girl. Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes widened. Potter’s smile widened. 

(And Marcus absolutely did _not_ fight a shiver down his spine)

“Better,” Potter purred, pacing closer to her. His wand twirled between his fingers, weaving a mindless but intricate dance. The way he moved was more than predatory, more than just menacing...it was like the dance of a cobra before it struck, hypnotic and strangely beautiful all while being deadly. 

Unlike the last time Marcus saw Potter duel, his magic hung heavily in the air. It was there, thick and oppressive, making the air heavier and harder to breathe. If he squinted, he could see a fine mist-like substance curling around the boy’s shoulders like a light shroud. 

Runcorn was waving her blackthorn wand in hopes of dispelling whatever Potter had done to her, and he surprisingly allowed it. He was still smiling even when Parkinson worked up the courage to mutter a shaky _“Finite Incantatem”_ and Runcorn sucked in a gasp of breath. 

“You filthy little _mudblood_ ,” she sneered, snarling at Potter with bared teeth. “You may have everyone else fooled but I won’t be blinded by your fake smiles and pandering. You’re no better than your whore of a mother and blood traitor father- you don’t deserve to even _think_ of the name Black, let alone bear it.” 

The room collectively gasped at the girl’s viper words, watching with gaping mouths and hanging jaws. But Potter...he didn’t scowl or sneer or glare. 

He _laughed_. 

Long and hard and heartily, enough so that tears shone in eyes that glowed as green as the killing curse. It was more of a cackle really, and something about it struck Marcus as hauntingly familiar but he wasn’t quite able to place it. It bounced around the stone walls of the snake pit, loud and jarring in the sudden silence. Marcus had the impression that he'd witnessed a scene like this before, the sudden laughter of a pale, wild-haired beauty just before carnage and bloodshed.

“I wonder,” Potter said finally, still chuckling, “how long did it take you to think that one up, hm?” And his smile was as wide and _genuine_ as ever, which made even Marcus from his seat quite a ways away feel cold. 

Runcorn didn’t say anything more (what more was to be said after a statement like _that?_ ) and Potter’s grin turned somewhat manic with too many teeth that seemed suddenly a lot sharper and eyes that were practically luminescent. He reached out suddenly, as quick as a viper, to wrap his hand around her neck and his pale skin contrasted so sharply with her dark complexion. 

“I’ve come across quite a few spells, recently,” he said softly, as if they had been having nothing more than a pleasant conversation about the weather “and I’ve been wanting so desperately to try them out.” 

There was no further warning as he flung her away from him and whipped his wand up, flinging a bright orange curse at her. It was only because she fell back that the curse missed, singing the wall where her head had been, but she rolled over and into a crouch easily enough, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. 

Potter didn’t wait for her to get her bearings, flinging spell after spell towards her with a speed not seen in anyone less than in their fifth year. The ground at her feet roiled and bucked, leaving her wobbly and unstable while a flurry of birds clawed and bit at her. It took her some time cast a proper _Incendio_ which caught many of the birds and then she was launching spells back. 

It wasn’t the best duel Marcus had ever seen (that spot was reserved by the current Slytherin King Jeremiah Kama who was a sixth-year. His duel with Amanda Tripe was one for the books) but for two first-years, it was certainly impressive. Runcorn seemed to be holding her own quite well, but it was nothing in comparison to Potter’s ease and the lazy grin on his face only goaded her more. 

“ _Diffindo!”_ she shouted, almost a bellow, and they all watched the curse fly through the air. Potter sidestepped it but wasn’t fast enough and the very end grazed his arm. 

He blinked down at the cut, saw the blood well and bead along it before it started to soak into the cloth around it and then-- if Marcus had thought that the boy’s smile before was manic then there was no other way but to describe this one as certifiably _insane_. Potter seemed almost _happy_ to have been cut, and he dipped a finger into the blood, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. 

“Took you long enough,” he said quietly and then his wand was twirling and-- Marcus blinked rapidly but the image didn’t fade or go away because there was blood- actual _blood_ \- in the air making shapes and burning as brightly as a _Lumos Maxima_. Runcorn shot off another spell which Marcus knew to be the flesh-eating curse but Potter batted it away with ease, and began chanting. 

“ _Demitte cruorem mihi, accenso caino_ _\- uro ad inimicos meos.”_ It was long, and Latin had never really been his strong suit so he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to do, but Gemma and a few of the seventh-years gasped loudly enough to know that it was _big_. 

The blood that hung in the air went from a deep red to a bright burning thing and kept going until it burst into a rope of flames that, grinning, Potter directed towards Runcorn. It flew with greater speed than any of them expected, coiling around her wrists and yanking them tightly behind her back so that her wand clattered uselessly to the floor. Her wails were loud and they all winced in sympathy as the acrid, smoky smell of burning flesh filled the air instantly. 

(Marcus didn’t miss the fact that, leaning against the wall nearby, Nott’s smile was as big as his friend’s) 

Potter sauntered over to where Runcorn was pinned against the wall, still sobbing and crying as the ropes of fire ate at her. “You brought this on yourself, you know,” he murmured, only heard over his victim’s wails because everyone else was dead silent. “Though I am glad that the spell works. It’s a bit obscure, you know.” He canted his head to the side, staring into the flames before flicking his eyes up to look into her face creased with pain and streaked with tears. “An attack on me, I could deal with. But you insulted my kin and my _House_ ,” he snarled, and it was the first sign of anger Marcus had seen the boy display since the duel began. “And that is unacceptable.” 

Runcorn’s screams went up an octave and increased in volume, and it took a while for them to notice why; one end of the rope had curled itself around her pinky and was squeezing. Then, with another sharp scream, the fire bit through the flesh and bone so that the severed appendage fell to the floor. The fire went out and Potter took a step back, inhaling deeply. 

“The scars won’t heal,” he said pleasantly, unconcerned. “But if you hurry, Madam Pomfrey might have some luck in reattaching that.” He pointed to the finger lying at her feet. “Though I wouldn’t hold out any hope.” 

Runcorn whimpered and bent to retrieve her finger, but as her shaking hand wrapped around it, his foot was there, pressing it into the floor. “The next time you test me, I won’t be so forgiving.” He waited until she was babbling out her understanding before letting her up, not bothering to watch as she scampered from the room. 

Parkinson started after her but was thrown back by an invisible force. He walked over to her. “And _you_ ,” Potter sneered, pressing his wand under her chin and forcing her watery gaze to meet him. “You’re pathetic,” he spat, and there was such visceral disgust in his tone that even Marcus wrinkled his nose at the girl. She whimpered pitifully. “Both you and Runcorn are enemies to me and mine. If I don’t like the way you so much as _look_ in my direction I’ll let you pick out your plot before I bury you.” 

He didn’t wait this time for her acknowledgement of his threat, stepping away from her quickly as if afraid that she’d sully him just from being close and turning towards the corner he and his lot usually sat in. Nott- who Marcus hadn’t seen so much as _grin_ in all the months they had shared Houses or seen each other at various social events- was _beaming_ as he took his place to Potter’s right while the Greengrass heir had a satisfied smile on her lips. The other half-blood they hung out with- Davis- had her brow cocked while Bulstrode (who his father had been talking about creating a Contract with) had her smile poorly concealed beneath her hand. Malfoy watched them all with wide eyes and flushed cheeks- though whether from shock or not, Marcus didn’t know.

It was then, as sound slowly returned to the Slytherin Common Room and monies exchanged hands once again, that Marcus Flint decided that there was something decidedly _other_ about Hadrian Potter-Black- and he was excited to find out precisely _what_. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Time passed quickly after that. Runcorn was in the infirmary for a week and Madam Pomfrey had only managed to reattach the severed finger but the nerves had never grown back so it wasn’t able to actually be used. Runcorn had to get a dictaquill until she learned to write with her left hand and she got extra tutoring from Snape so that she could learn to cast with her other hand as well. 

Classes continued to be pathetically easy and he’d already mastered until well into his third year- at the very least- so he spent most of his time reconnecting with the acquaintances he’d made before. Tracey and Daphne were delightful conversationalists and while he found Zabini’s theatrics and Malfoy’s babbling to be somewhat irritating it was Theo’s bright smiles and light laughs that he found he enjoyed the most. 

A week after he’d last spoken to them, the twins managed to find and corner him before thrusting a letter in his face. 

_Trouble Twins_ , it read. _I won’t bother asking how you are because you’ve obviously found yourself some terribly dangerous task to amuse yourselves with. Just make sure whatever lands you in the infirmary this time isn’t permanent- you know how it sets mum off at_ me _. I don’t even want to know_ how _you’ve come across a hatchling Ridgeback but I don’t mind taking it off you. Some friends of mine are coming over to Romania in the next few days, so if you can get to a high enough spot then they’ll be glad to pick it up- the Astronomy tower should work. Does Saturday at midnight sound good? Send an owl as soon as, and try to keep safe, alright? Love, Charlie._

Hadrian hummed as he handed the letter back. This Charlie sounded like a reasonable person and was undoubtedly a Gryffindor if he was willing to pick up an illegally bred dragon just because it was his brothers who asked- or maybe he’d been a Puff?

“Saturday at midnight sounds good,” he said, nodding. “Sally-Anne and I can get the dragon up there no problem without being seen. I appreciate all your help.” 

The one that Hadrian suspected was George shrugged. “Hagrid’s a good guy. Besides, we’re always up for an adventure.” His twin nodded enthusiastically, the two of them grinning. 

“I can’t guarantee that you won’t be seen, though. I only have...space...for one or _maybe_ two others. All four of us won’t fit.” 

Fred’s(?) grin widened. “While we’re flattered by your concern-”

“And really, we are-”

“We’ve been managing mischief for many years before you-”

“And will continue to do so for many _after_ you-”

“So trust us when we say-”

“ _We’ve got it covered_.” 

Hadrian blinked at them, and this time there was more amusement than irritation at their disjointed speech. “Alright,” he shrugged. “Ten-to-midnight on Saturday we’ll meet you at the entrance hall. From there we’ll make our way down to Hagrid’s hut, pick up the dragon and bring it in. We should be done with it all in no later than twenty minutes.” 

The twins nodded and after another creepy, in-sync goodbye they separated. 

Hagrid wasn’t too pleased to hear when he and Sally-Anne visited that evening some time before curfew, but the golden-haired Hufflepuff surprisingly didn’t pity the half-giant as he blubbered over the dragon that was now the same size as his dining table. Instead, she shrugged and joined Hadrian in petting the (admittedly cute in a fearsome way) Norbert’s wings as the dragon hissed out its pleasure in that same, warbled voice. 

“ _Right there...I like this sun-human. I will not eat her.”_ Norbert turned it’s great head to blink lazily at Hadrian. “ _This dark one smells nice.”_

Hadrian shifted away from it, just to be safe. 

“Come Sally-Anne, curfew is in half-an-hour and you’re always complaining about the stairs.” He ignored the glare she shot him. “Have him ready at eleven-thirty. We’ll be by before midnight and on Sunday we’ll let you know how things went.” Much like he did with Sally-Anne’s glare, he ignored the fresh bout of tears in Hagrid’s eyes and pulled instead on his friend’s robe, dragging her away from Norbert who had moved on to hissing about how Hadrian would taste roasted. 

They weren’t far into their trudge back to the castle before he broke the silence. “Smith has done something,” he said, looking at Sally-Anne expectantly. She gaped at him, furrowing her brows. 

“How did you know that?”

He raised a brow. “You must have mentioned it sometime.”

Sally-Anne shook her head vigorously. “No, I...I didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Hadrian paused momentarily, but thinking about it made his head hurt so he shrugged and continued. “I must have overheard it somewhere. Smith’s always up to something. What was it this time?” 

“Oh Harry!” she burst out and her blue eyes were watering in that way that always made something in him feel tight. “He’s told his mother about Norbert and she’s assured him that she’ll have someone around to the school by Monday!”

Hadrian didn’t say anything, simply humming. 

“I know that you don’t really like him, Harry- he’s not smart or useful or anything but he’s-”

“Your friend,” Hadrian cut in rather simply, and the words stunned the blonde girl into silence. “You enjoy his presence so I’ll help him. I’ll take care of it, Sally-Anne. Don’t worry.”

They had reached the entrance to Hufflepuff by then and Sally-Anne was staring up at him with shining eyes. Then she flung her arms around his neck in that dramatic way she so-loved and squeezed him tightly. “I know you will. You always do.”

He pulled away from her and nodded tersely. “Of course. Your happiness is important. I won’t be seeing you much tomorrow but I’ll let you know on Sunday that everything’s gone smoothly. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.” 

He gave her a last smile before making his way deeper into the dungeons and towards his common room.

* * *

Friday passed with not much excitement though he had sent the odd hex or two surreptitiously at Zacharias Smith and the loud-mouthed Roger Malone. They’d had to be escorted out of Herbology and to the infirmary so that their swollen hands could be dealt with. Sally-Anne had given him a stern glare from across the greenhouse but he couldn’t help it if the two louts were too stupid to realise not to get close to the Spiky Bushes that they were dealing with. 

(And if he had antagonised them a little with his magic from afar then it really was only a mere coincidence)

The Twins wouldn’t stop winking at him when they’d cross each other in the corridors and it was causing the older Slytherins to slant looks in his direction and Theo- who he’d already filled in for his plans for Saturday- only shook his head and huffed in annoyance. 

The rest of his circle were all-too-eager to sit in on the Quidditch team’s practice in preparation for their match the next day against Ravenclaw and it was either because Hadrian hadn’t really been concentrating for any of their other practices or Flint was feeling the pressure because it turned out to be a gruelling session. 

By the end of it, Hadrian was leaning against Theo as the other boy laughed and pulled him down the steps into the dungeons while Malfoy chattered on about the Wronski Feint Flint had forced him to practice again and again for an hour straight. Really, if it weren’t for the nausea potion Tracey kept on hand he was sure to have heaved up everything he’d eaten that day. 

Still, when he climbed into bed early that night, hair still wet from the hot shower he’d taken and feet encased in the fluffy socks Sally-Anne had given him for Yule, there was a contented smile on his face from the soothing ache in his muscles. 

Saturday brought with it a fresh wave of enthusiasm. The entire school was up early and the Great Hall buzzed with noise as the Quidditch teams wolfed down their breakfasts before leaving for their changing rooms. 

Nobody had seen the Boy-Who-Lived fly since Slytherin’s match against Gryffindor and all the budding gamblers of the school was taking this prime opportunity to win some Galleons. Malfoy had been stuck to his side all morning, whispering about what he’d overheard two third-year Ravenclaws talking about. 

“Their old seeker dropped out when they realised it was you who they were going up against so they’ve got a new one, Cho Chang. She’s a decent flier, I’ve seen her a few times, but she’s no match for you, Hadrian. Her Cleansweep has a few bent bristles so her dives can’t be too deep or sudden.” 

Hadrian nodded and smiled at the boy, patting him on the shoulder as he rose with the rest of the team. “Thanks, Malfoy-”

“Draco,” the boy interrupted before his cheeks erupted in scarlet. Hadrian paused before inclining his head. 

“Thanks, _Draco_ ,” he said quietly, holding the blond’s eye for a moment before he turned and strode out. 

The changing rooms had a tense kind of silence hanging in the air, broken only by Flint barking ‘reminders’ that if they had any hope of getting the Cup again then they had to win by at least fifty points. Their upcoming match against Hufflepuff didn’t seem to concern him much, and with Gryffindor out of the way Ravenclaw proved to be the only kind of _real_ opposition. 

Hadrian didn’t point out how dangerous that line of thinking was and instead pulled his wand from his robes, muttering the Severing Charm and smearing some blood on the handle of his broom. _“Peto, Nate, domina magicae,_ ” he chanted lowly, rubbing his blood into the mahogany wood in slow circles. “Keep me safe.” 

“Alright!” Flint boomed. Hadrian smiled as he felt the air around him stir and vibrate, heating until sweat beaded on his forehead before a sense of calm and serenity passed through him. He joined the rest of his Housemates by the exit. “Do what you have to do, boys. We’re getting that damn Cup.” 

As it turned out, Flint needn’t have been so worried. Their Beaters seemed to have taken the severity of the game to heart and hadn’t held back any right from the start. Half-an-hour in and both Ravenclaw Chasers had been subbed out and their Keeper now played with one arm cradled to his chest. 

Chang shadowed Hadrian from where he was hovering above them all, eyes sharp as they searched for the flitting golden ball. When it became clear that her team had no chance of winning without the snitch, she dove for where it fluttered near the Hufflepuff stands, but just as Draco had said, her bent bristles caused her to go wider than she’d expected. 

Hadrian dove after her, placing his body between her fingers and the golden ball without reaching for it himself. Just then Flint scored another ten points which made it 80-30 to Slytherin. Still, Hadrian didn’t want a narrow win, so he let the snitch float lazily between his legs as Chang scrambled not to collide into the wall nearby. 

“Why didn’t you grab it?” she shouted as she righted herself. Hadrian shrugged and smiled widely.

“The game has only just begun!” he answered cheerfully before pulling away. 

In the end, he’d grown bored and caught the snitch just after Ravenclaw’s Davies scored, making the final score a resounding 270-60. Lee Jordan called out the score with something like a screech and proclaimed it one of the best scores of the past decade, which only made the noise coming from the green and silver stands quadruple. 

Hadrian was fairly sure that he got more bruises from the slaps on the back as he touched down than he ever did from practice, but his smile was still wide as they traipsed back to the common room where there would undoubtedly be a party. 

“He’s a king!”

“A god!”

“Or at least an angel-”

“Maybe a bird?”

“Like a great big eagle-”

“Or a graceful swan-”

“ _The Great Harry Potter_.” 

Hadrian sighed as he heard the disjointed speech. “You give me a headache when you speak like that, you know,” he said warily, though there was a smile tugging at his lips. He’d been in a great mood recently, and the Twins seemed to know it. They beamed back at him, arms slung over one another, heads cocked at exactly the same angle so that it became almost impossible to tell them apart. 

“Funny you should mention that-”

“Cus we’ve got just the thing-”

“- _to help_.” 

The one on the left that Hadrian strongly believed to be Fred (due to the lack of bump on his nose) stuffed his hand into his pocket and withdrew a blood-red sweet. He held it out to Hadrian, who eyed it wearily. 

“Uh...no, thanks, I’d rather not.” 

The other one, George, shrugged and popped it into his own mouth. A second passed before Hadrian noticed that George’s head was growing. “Give your brain more space and- voila, no headache!” 

Hadrian could only blink at them before shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s quite how it works, but sure. Did you need something?” 

Fred laughed as his brother stumbled about with the sudden weight of his inflated head. “Nah,” he handed George a bottle that he pulled from _somewhere_. “Just want to confirm. Ten-to at the entrance hall, right?” Hadrian nodded. “Good. See you then, King Harry!” He waved and his twin attempted something of the same before they bounded down the corridor and disappeared. 

Theo didn’t say anything about, just rolling his eyes as they made their way into the common room. The House had wasted no time in organising a party; there was music playing from a large gramophone in the corner and tables filled with finger foods. It was hardly midday but there were people dancing and laughing and Hadrian was pretty sure that there was a game that included shots and firewhiskey going on in the corner. 

To his surprise, there were even a few people from other Houses. Slytherins typically stuck together, especially with the strong stigma against the House of Snakes, or they mingled with the Ravenclaws who cared only for intelligent conversation. It was rare to find a Slytherin with Hufflepuff or- more controversially- Gryffindor friends, yet a few from each House were dotted about the Common Room, holding drinks and laughing and dancing with everyone else. 

“They’re all purebloods,” Theo explained as they took up their seats in their usual corner. “Their families are neutral and they still honour the Old Ways. Besides, Houses only matter so long as you’re in Hogwarts. You can’t refuse business with someone just because they were a Lion.” 

Hadrian hummed in understanding before turning to Theo suddenly with a gleam in his sparkling green eyes. “I bet I can beat you at chess this time.” 

Theo threw his head back in laughter. “Oh Ian,” he said, grinning widely like a cat with a mouse. “You sure can try.” 

* * *

The party raged on well into the night and it was all Hadrian could do not to fall asleep right there on the couch. Theo was pressed into his side while Draco sat cross-legged at his feet besides Blaise, who was telling them theatrically story after another. 

(Hadrian suspected that the punch the dark-skinned boy had been sipping was spiked but didn’t say anything about it). 

The hour was late and Daphne dragged a nodding Tracey and giggling Milicent up to the girls’ dorm while Draco helped a stumbling Blaise to their rooms with a roll of his eyes. At some point in the past week, Crabbe and Goyle had taken to following them around, and traipsed bleary-eyed after blond, eventually taking slurring Blaise off his hands and carting him up the stairs. 

It was only Hadrian and Theo left, curled up on the couch together beneath a blanket Hadrian had managed to charm Gemma Farley into conjuring for them. Theo was whispering to Hadrian about Time magic, which was quite taboo in the wizarding world for all the potential chaos it could cause in nobody’s favour. 

“But if I went back and didn’t catch the snitch, then we wouldn’t have won,” Hadrian said, wrinkling his nose in confusion. Theo just shook his head, and Hadrian noted that with the fires flickering, they glowed so that they were more gold than hazel. 

“No, but see- if you’d gone back in time and changed something, then it would _already have happened_. We wouldn’t know if anything had been changed or not because, well, to us it wouldn’t have. It would’ve been just another thing happening in life. Only the person who changed it would know, and then they’d have to return to a place and point that they know for certain to be undisturbed. Which would be pretty hard to do considering…”

Hadrian wasn’t really listening anymore, just nodding and smiling as he rested his head against Theo’s shoulder and listening to the smooth, soothing sound of his voice. 

By all right, Hadrian shouldn’t feel this relaxed in someone else’s presence. He hadn’t known Theo for even a year, and yet he couldn’t help but feel as if the boy were a kindred spirit, a like soul. Theo was quiet and bookish and tended to avoid confrontation if he could, coasting along in a sea of obscurity. But underneath that, Hadrian knew that there was a fire in the boy. It was the same way that he’d known Sally-Anne was special. 

Theo the dark, roiling sea, whose waves looked calm and still most times but had a hidden depth and danger. Hadrian had never seen the sea in person; Madam Ida always locked him away when the trip came up, so all he knew was the other children’s exaggerated accounts and what he could read about in books. 

Theo reminded him of what he read about. He was like the words, sometimes cold and factual, no more than they appeared to be. But sometimes he was like the pictures, that at first appeared two dimensional before morphing right before your very eyes until they watered as you stared into a void you couldn’t remember first being there. 

He was shaken out of his musings, looking up to see a bemused smile curling Theo’s lips. “Come on, it’s quarter to midnight. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

Hadrian cursed as he rose, folding the blanket and handing it over to the other boy as they started for their dorm. The other boys were all fast asleep by the time they got there, and Hadrian wasted no time getting his cloak out before turning to Theo. 

“I should be back by no later than half-past. If I’m not, get Professor Snape.” Theo’s eyes were wide but he still nodded and Hadrian left, swinging the cloak over his head as the door to the dorm closed behind him. 

It was strangely exhilarating, walking away from the dorm covered by his father’s cloak and making his way down the shifting staircases. He’d silenced his feet so that they didn’t echo and sooner than he thought, he came to the entrance hall where two redheads were bent together over what looked like some parchment. 

“It says he’s here,” mused Fred, glancing up and looking around. His brows furrowed when he didn’t see anything. Hadrian had to stifle a giggle as he moved behind one of the suits of armour. Here, it would be hard to spot even without his cloak. 

“Well unless he’s invisible, I can’t see him,” grumbled George back, scrunching up his nose as he whispered something and touched his wand against the parchment before stuffing it into one of the pockets in his robes. 

Hadrian couldn’t stop his laugh at the irony of the twin’s statement. He took his cloak off and hung it over his arm so that they couldn’t see exactly what it did or how he got there before stepping out from behind the suit of armour. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” he asked with a smirk, pointedly not apologising as they left the castle and started down for Hagrid’s hut. 

“How did you get here without us seeing you?” Fred demanded, and Hadrian just laughed and tapped his nose. George smirked. 

“Ah, Forge, King Harry travels in mysterious ways known only to those who defeat Dark Lords.” 

“Oh yeah?” grinned Fred. “I reckon we should ask Dumbledore then. He’s sure to know.” 

The comment made Hadrian pause. _Did_ Dumbledore know about his cloak? Hadrian remembers the handwriting of the note that came with it being familiar, like he’d seen it recently. Could the Headmaster have been his father’s friend? From what he understood, Dumbledore had been Headmaster while James Potter had been a student. How could they have gotten close enough for his father to give over a family heirloom? _Why_ would he need an invisibility cloak? Surely there wasn't anyone powerful enough to see through his Disillusionment Charm? 

He shook those thoughts off as they reached the hut, and his knuckles had only brushed the wood of the door before it was yanked open and Hagrid’s anxious face peered out at them. “Oh,” the half-giant said, as his shoulders slumped. “Yer here.” He didn’t say anything else as he turned back into the hut, but he left the door open so Hadrian sighed and entered. 

There were twin gasps behind him once both Weasleys caught sight of Norbert. It had been almost two weeks since the dragon had hatched and already it was half-a-foot taller than fang and as long as the hut itself. It hissed about being hungry, which made Hadrian take a cautious step back as it scented the air and turned narrowed, lilac eyes on him. He scowled at it.

“Blimey, Hagrid!” gasped George. “That really is a dragon!” 

“Well it _could_ just be an oversized lizard-” Fred was cut off as Norbert let out a jet of fire in his direction, apparently taking umbrage at the comparison. 

“Right,” Hadrian said, ready to get this all over with. “I’ll take Norbert with me. The twins will make sure the path is clear before we go and Charlie’s friends will be meeting us in the next ten minutes, so it’s best we hurry.” 

Hagrid began blubbering about missing the dragon and making sure it was fed and whatnot, but Hadrian was fairly certain that the dragon had lost all interest in the half-giant as he nosed itself along Hadrian’s torso. “ _Behave_ ,” he warned lowly, taking note of the shock that flashed in the creature’s eyes. 

With Hadrian cutting short the exclamations of surprise and sorrow and other general unneeded hindrances, the party of three humans and one dragon set back off for the castle. The twins had a way of knowing who was where and which staircases to use or avoid, so they made it up to the Astronomy tower without any problems.

As they waiting in the frigid February air, Hadrian wondered how Dumbledore could _not_ know that they were smuggling an illegal dragon outside of the castle. Weren’t there wards that showed unauthorised persons breaching them? Would the elderly man appear just as Weasley’s friends did and arrest them all? Would they be thrown in prison for aiding and abetting? Perhaps Hadrian could plead that he’d been coerced. Hagrid was a big, scary half-giant and he didn’t want to get in trouble for not helping someone who was so close to the Headmaster. 

The wait from then on was decidedly more stressful. Fred and George had been going on and on about Hadrian’s invisibility cloak and were alternating between ideas for their own and how dragon dung could be useful for potions. On the way up, Norbert had tried to take a bite out of Hadrian, but stopped when he’d hissed _“Stop_.” 

The dragon had paused and looked up at him before saying in that garbled voice, “ _You speak?”_

Hadrian had huffed. Why were animals always surprised that he could _speak_? Did he look mute, or something? “ _Of course I speak_ ,” he said irritably back. “ _Now stop trying to eat me or I’ll chop you up and use you in my next potions class._ ” Norbert hadn’t tried to bite him again, but spent the rest of the climb letting Hadrian know that he most certainly would if he _had_ turned out to be mute or too stupid to speak. 

(For some reason, Norbert’s voice was slightly high-pitched, and it made Hadrian wonder whether its voice would break during puberty. Did dragons even go through puberty? He ought to ask Sally-Anne, provided she wasn’t still obsessed with piglets). 

“There!” pointed George, and Hadrian decided not to point out that shouting from literally the tallest point in Hogwarts wasn’t the best way to remain undetected. Instead, he looked to where the ginger was pointing and noticed that there were a few dots getting closer. 

Soon enough three figures were touching down in the space around them. They travelled via brooms, though they looked to be more for long-distance travel than speed. Attached to the back of them was a cage/cart-thing that Hadrian supposed they’d be transporting Norbert in. 

Fred and George made idle chit-chat (something about sending a toilet seat home) as the woman corralled a suddenly hyper Norbert into the cart and locked it behind him, casting several charms to make the load lighter and easier to carry. 

“Thanks for this, mate,” Fred said as he clasped a blond’s arm. “And tell Charlie that we’ll be sending him a doorknob so that he doesn’t feel left out.” The man laughed and the three people mounted their brooms and took off, silently merging with the night sky and clouds until they were no longer distinguishable. 

Hadrian sighed, shoulders slumping. He was about to swing his cloak back over his head and make his way back to his dorms when a voice stopped him. 

“I told you, professor,” came the smug, snooty voice. 

“Indeed,” the professor drawled, and Hadrian turned to meet the disapproving stare of his Transfiguration professor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it! Thoughts? 
> 
> Admittedly, I didn't expect it to come out so long but...these guys bully me. Let me know if you guys want to see the translation to those spells and I'll amend this note and include them. I most certainly could not have come up with them on my own, they were courtesy of the lovely Gallijaw who has literally made this fic possible with all the ideas they've given me. Thank you 3000. 
> 
> As usual, let me know what you think, drop a kudo and a comment; I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Edit: Alright then, you've asked for translations so here they are. 
> 
> Demitte cruorem mihi, accenso caino - uro ad inimicos meos: blood from me was set ablaze - burn my enemies. Hadrian uses this to create the ropes of fire.  
> Peto, Nate, domina magicae - I beseech thee, lady magic. Hadrian calls on Lady Magic to protect him during the game. This is the verbalised version of what he managed to do before.


	15. The True Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein masks are shattered and natures are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are! The penultimate chapter for first year! Just as a small heads-up all I won't be creating another separate work for second-year and beyond because that's just...long. But we'll get into that at the bottom. Enjoy the chapter!

_Our real discoveries come from chaos, from going to the place that looks wrong and stupid and foolish._

_-Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters_

There were times that made Hadrian wonder whether the reason that the wizarding community was so small was that they were all somewhat suicidal. Now was one such time. 

Professor McGonagall had assigned the three of them detention and thrown Smith under the bus as well. She’d cited the reason was that he, too, had been out of bed past curfew but Hadrian privately thought it probably had more to do with the fact that she’d deducted a total of fifty points from her own House. 

Still, it wasn’t the detention that he was averse to. Merlin knows that he’s done enough over the year to earn himself ten times as much, so he didn’t complain when it was assigned. 

No, Hadrian’s problem was with the fact that they- two first-years and two third-years- were expected to go into the _Forbidden Forest_ to search for whatever had been killing the unicorns. 

Hadrian had thought it was a joke when Filch had first said it, leering and sneering at them from behind thin, stringy hair, but Hagrid hadn’t even cracked a smile when he’d met them by the edge of the forest and instructed them what to do. 

That was how Hadrian found himself grumbling to himself as he trudged over fallen leaves and stepped over roots that tried to trip him. Smith was stumbling along behind him, making enough noise to wake the dead. Fred and George had looked at each other with matching grins, taken a hold of Fang and disappeared into the dense tree-line, no doubt thinking of it all as some grand adventure. Hadrian had been stuck with a grumbling Smith who whined every time a tree branch snagged at his robes or got stuck in his hair. They had Hagrid with them, but the man was busy warding off whatever creatures came sniffing close by and was some hundred metres behind. 

Hadrian hissed as a sharp pain lanced through his head, making his scar throb and start to bead with blood. He stumbled into a tree, grasping it for support as his vision doubled before righting again. Snape had told him that he was to go straight to him whenever this happened, but there had been some kind of scandal break-in at the Ministry of Magic and all of their potions had somehow been ruined. As the youngest and best Potions Master of his generation, they’d requested Snape take a week out to restock their stores and brew some new interrogative ones the Department of Mysteries had come up with. They had replaced the Potions Master with some mediocre, dim-witted man that Hadrian was pretty sure hadn’t even gotten an O in his OWLs, let alone NEWTs.

“Taking a nap, Potter?” sneered Smith. “Do the muggles not let you stay up this late?”

“Shut up,” Hadrian hissed back, eyes flashing as he whirled on the blond. Smith’s eyes widened before his jaw snapped shut. He hadn’t thought the boy would listen but he wouldn’t complain about doing so, especially when the pain in his head burned hotter. 

“P-p-potter,” Smith whispered, trembling. “It’s- I- _look_!” Smith pointed a shaking hand behind him and Hadrian turned to see what the other boy was blubbering about, and the sight made the blood in his veins freeze. 

There was a unicorn on the ground, legs splayed and neck bent at an awkward angle with a robed figure draped over it. Hadrian could make out the fine trickle of silver blood running down the unicorn’s white coat to drip on the floor. 

Smith made some strangled noise and fled, stumbling and screaming in the direction of the castle. 

But there was a magic in the air that made Hadrian pause as he turned to do the same. It was familiar, like the one he felt in the nightmares that gripped him at nights, only a lot weaker. 

The robed figure’s head lifted and there was a snarl as blood-coated teeth were bared. Hadrian steeled himself and lifted his wand, his mind churning over all the spells and curses he’d absorbed in the past four months. Would the Entrails Expelling curse be the best one to use now or the simple Severing Charm? Maybe something more obscure, with Blood Magic, but that required quite a bit of chanting and this- this _creature_ could attack at any time. 

The figure was closer now, hardly more than two metres away, and Hadrian’s heart was thumping like mad in his chest. There was that same helpless frustration that had shown itself when he’d been at Quirrell’s mercy all those months ago, and all he could think about was getting rid of it. 

He needed to _destroy_ this thing, this feeling, this creature who dared make him feel inferior. Didn’t he know that Hadrian was _different_ , a king among peasants who couldn’t hope to hold a candle to his flame? Wasn’t it obvious that Hadrian should never be subjected to something so trivial and common as _fear?_ Who were they to try and reduce him to nothing more than a quivering, stuttering fool in the face of the unknown? 

The darkness within him struggled against the iron grip he always had on it. He’d felt that grip loosening over the last few months, all of his attention and energy going into research and study which left only the smallest part of him to monitor the beast inside. 

Now, that beast was hungry, and there was prey that dared think itself as a predator. 

Hadrian didn’t really notice when he rose his left hand- the one without the wand- and sent a dark bolt of energy towards the figure that now loomed after him. He watched with glazed, dispassionate eyes as the darkness swarmed the figure, tearing at its robes as biting into the flashes of white skin beneath. 

“ _Harry Potter!”_ it screeched in a high-pitched, garbled voice, a little like how Norbert always sounded. Still, the darkness flowed out of the dark-haired boy who wasn’t really seeing what was going on, too caught up in a cycle of fear and frustration. 

There was the distant sound of clattering hooves and a shape blurred out of the trees behind him, rearing up onto back legs and chasing away the figure who fled with another high-pitched screech. The swirling darkness snapped back into Hadrian, who gasped and stumbled, falling against a nearby tree. 

His brow was soaked with sweat and a trail of blood trickled from his scar which flared red. He blinked up at the new creature that stood towering over him, it’s naked, hairy chest heaving as if he’d run a long way. 

“Harry Potter,” it said, though its voice was much deeper than the creature it had just runoff. “The stars have predicted your coming for a long time, but they have changed recently.” 

Hadrian didn’t say anything to that, only swallowing tersely and pushing himself shakily to his feet. “Who are you?” he rasped at the creature which, now that he could see clearly, turned out to be a centaur. 

“I am Firenze. I was supposed to be reading the stars tonight when I heard the cry of a unicorn’s death.” The centaur paused then, glancing sorrowfully at the dead unicorn. “It is the greatest sin to kill such a pure creature. It tars the soul to even bear witness to their death.” 

Hadrian heaved a shuddering breath, but couldn’t say much more before there was the sound of someone crashing through the trees. Hagrid appeared then, haggard and out of breath. He had an axe in one hand and looked ready to swing it until he recognized who was before him. 

“Firenze,” the man said, surprised. “Wha’re you doin’ ‘ere?” 

The centaur shook out his mane and adjusted the crossbow Hadrian only just noticed he was carrying. “You Man are killing sacred beasts, Hagrid,” he said, “despite our long-standing accord. The Forest becomes restless.” 

Hadrian noticed that the centaur tended to speak in vague generalities and, on top of the raging migraine, it pissed him off. 

“Well maybe you can consult your stars to find out who it is,” he muttered irritably, drawing his robes closer to ward off the chill, but the centaur heard and turned glowing amber eyes to him. 

“We have,” he said simply, clomping closer and lowering his front two legs to look directly into Hadrian’s eyes. “It is the same one who gave you that scar and resides within.” 

Hadrian blinked up at the creature for a moment before recoiling in horror. Hagrid made a choked noise but Hadrian paid him no mind, turning to flee. He heard the centaur’s grave words even as he crashed through the forest and towards the [relative] safety of the castle. 

“It does you no good to run from the truth, Harry Potter. The stars shine wherever you go.”

* * *

“I know what’s being hidden on the third floor.” 

Theo sighed, Daphne narrowed her eyes and Draco let out an elaborate gasp. Blaise just smiled like he’d known all along that this was coming while Milicent furrowed her brows and leant back in her seat. 

“ _How_ would you know what’s on the third floor?” Tracey asked, barely looking up from her book. 

“I worked it out, of course,” Hadrian responded, brow furrowed slightly. “The how isn’t important. It’s what it is and how we’re going to get our hands on it.” 

Daphne’s brows flew into her hairline. “Did you not hear the part where the Headmaster promised a violent and painful death?”

Draco waved her off. “You’ve already been there, haven’t you Hadrian?” he asked instead, a strange gleam in his eyes. 

“Yes,” Hadrian said tersely. Maybe he shouldn’t have included them all in it. They would only try and stop him, and he didn’t have time to convince them that he was right (it should have been obvious- he was _always_ right). It was foolish to think they could help, anyway. The muggle children had never been of any use to him before and apparently neither were wizarding ones. 

“What do you need us to do?” Theo asked in that soft way of his, cutting into the spiral of thoughts whirling about his head as he laid a gentle hand on his arm. Hadrian looked at him for a moment, noted the genuine sincerity in his eyes and determined set of his shoulders.

Theo would always be his first. 

They planned all throughout dinner, huddled at their table in the back of the library until it came time for them to pack up and retire to their common room. “I still don’t understand why _Quirrell_ ,” Draco grumbled as they filed into the silver and green room. Tracey rolled her eyes. 

“He has been remarkably different this past week. Didn’t you notice that he’s managed to actually _teach_ us something?” 

The blond scion paused, furrowing his brow. “Well...I suppose. Still, he can barely cast a spell right! Don’t you remember that time he nearly blasted Hadrian’s head off in class-” he faltered, cheeks flaming as it dawned on him. “Oh, right.” 

Daphne just sniffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t think too hard, Draco. You’ll hurt yourself.” 

They descended into childish squabbling then, and Hadrian turned away from them all to take a moment to himself. For all their pureblood posturing, they made an awful lot of noise and to someone who had become accustomed to only his own company and that of a single other, it got overwhelming quite quickly. 

Then, suddenly, it got very quiet, so that the voices faded into a dull murmur. 

“It’s a spell I learnt a year back after one of the Malfoy Yule galas.” Hadrian looked up to see Theo watching him with the same intense look in his eyes. The other boy seemed to always be watching him, and while at first it came off as calculating, now they were a source of comfort for how candidly observant and oddly wise they were. 

Hadrian couldn’t muster the effort to smile, though, but he wanted to show the boy he was grateful anyway. Instead, he let slip a tendril of his magic, allowed it to crawl across the space between them and intertwine with the other’s boy. He had allowed his magic the liberty only once before with the other boy, as he did with all others. It was his own way of gauging their worthiness. 

The feel of Theo’s magic shocked him, though. It was undeniably warm in the way that he knew blood was. He felt stripped bare before the other boy, which was weird considering he’d been the one to enter the other’s field of magic. He felt as if Theo had grown thorns that were able to puncture and penetrate right to the core of who he was, without any pretences or manipulations. Just him. Just Harry, as he’d once longed to be. 

“Hadrian…” Theo croaked, and his voice sounded oddly strained and hoarse, as if he’d run out of breath or had forgotten how to speak. 

“Goodnight, Theo,” he said softly. Then he slipped away to their dorms. He was feeling good, better than he had for months. Maybe he’d get a full night’s sleep tonight. 

Maybe he’d see Theo there. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Tracey sighed for the hundredth time since adding two measures of Standard Ingredient to the brass cauldron. The potion would be finished soon enough and then they could commence the second part of the plan. 

It wouldn’t have been much of a problem if she hadn’t been stuck brewing with Malfoy. Now, don’t get her wrong, he was a decent potioneer, but the boy could talk for England. Not once in the 20 minutes since they’d started had he stopped, cycling through Quidditch to Potions to Dark Arts and right back around to Quidditch again. 

Perhaps it was the nerves. What they were doing was not only against school rules, but _illegal_. 

Still, it was the most interesting thing to happen all year. 

Coming to Hogwarts, Tracey hadn’t known what to expect. Her father had been a Ravenclaw muggle-born and her mother a pureblood in the same House, and they had certainly passed on their love for knowledge onto their only daughter. She wasn’t sure why she’d Sorted Slytherin as opposed to the House of Ravens but she wouldn’t complain. 

Especially when the Snake House had someone as interesting as Hadrian Potter-Black. 

She’d heard all about him before coming to school (of course she had, who hadn’t?) but never could she imagine the Boy-Who-Lived to be so _fascinating_. The boy wore his magic like an oversized cloak and it sparked and flared with his emotions. Those few months late last year had been particularly terrifying; she felt that if left unchecked, the powerful boy could spiral into such a well of darkness that it would be impossible to pull him back. 

“Stop stirring,” she snapped, ignoring the scowl Malfoy shot at her as he tapped his stirring rod against the side of the cauldron. Then she pulled her red oak wand from her pocket and waved it to complete the potion. “It’s done,” she sighed before turning to clean up their workstation. “Bottle it. We’ll give it to Daphne and Blaise when we get to the common room.” 

Malfoy huffed again at being given instructions, but Tracey had learnt months ago not to pay him any attention when he did that. Besides, it would only ruin the excitement of having brewed a potion to drug a professor with. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

“Your hair is _fine_ ,” sighed Zabini. Daphne didn’t pay him any mind, though, smoothing her brush over her blonde tresses. _Fine_ was never acceptable, and she didn’t expect him of all people to appreciate that. Zabini was one of the most attractive boys in their year, and she could easily see him becoming a source of many broken hearts in the future, though he didn’t seem to put any effort at all into appearances. His dark hair had waves in it when he brushed it and added a little bit of hair potion, but other than that all he had to do was wink one green-grey eye and flash that half-smirk to get what he wanted. 

_She_ didn’t have that luxury, so she didn’t let him rush her in her preparations. “Fine,” she said loftily once she made sure her skirt was at a respectable length. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

Zabini muttered something about primping princess, but swiftly shut up once her stinging hex hit his arm. She pulled out the vial of Pepper-Up potion and downed it, barely refrained from making a face at the taste (and it didn’t make it any better that Professor Snape had ensured they all knew exactly what went into it). Then, before she could lose her nerve, she rapped her knuckles on the door they’d stopped before. 

It took no longer than thirty seconds for the door to be answered, but for Daphne, it may well have been years. Her heart drummed in her chest even while she kept her face impassive and consciously splayed her fingers out against her skirt to stop them from twisting the fabric. 

Finally, the door swung open to reveal their professor. “Yes?” he answered, and his voice was slightly raspy in a way she didn’t remember it being before. She blinked up at him. 

“Professor, we were wondering if we could have a moment of your time?” Blaise said, moving so that he was closer to her. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and for a moment she was prepared to berate him for his forwardness. 

The man looked at them both for a moment before a smile slid onto his face that was nowhere near as shaky as it had been at the start of the school year. “Of course,” he rasped. “Come in.” Blaise shot her a significant look before entering first, and Daphne could only trail in after him. The door slammed shut, and perhaps it was her imagination but it seemed rather final. 

“Now, what can I do for the two of you? You never seem to have any problems in class.” 

This time Daphne didn’t wait for Blaise to talk first (if she spent the rest of her life waiting for boys to act first then she’d never get anywhere). “Yes, it’s about the theory, really. You see, I was intrigued about the classification of jinxes, hexes and curses. _Flipendo_ is classified as a jinx even though you could kill someone by sending them off a bridge or cliff while the finger-removing jinx is just that but causes at the very least moderate harm to the victim.” 

The professor didn’t say anything for a while before he hummed, leaning back in his claimed seat behind the wooden desk. “Firstly, it’s called the Knockback Jinx, not _Flipendo_ \- that is its incantation. And to answer your question…” he trailed off, steepling his fingers in a way most unlike the Quirrell they had known for all these months. “There are always arguments on how to classify a spell. By all rights, if the Ministry banned every single form of Dark magic then we would not even be allowed to cast a simple _Lumos_.” As he spoke the last word, the flames of the candles in the room jumped higher. 

Daphne was hit with the sudden sense that this was not at all the man she’d been taught by for the past six months. His words were too deliberately chosen, said with an assurance that the trembling, stuttering man just didn’t possess. Discreetly, she nudged Zabini’s foot with hers, and from the corner of her eye she could see him from as well. 

“Well,” she said, pulling open her school bag. “I wrote this mini-essay and I was wondering if maybe you could read it over for me? See if my theory is correct?” She fished about in her bag as if looking for a particular parchment, but really it was to give her hands time to stop shaking. Finally, she pulled it out, pinched between her thumb and index finger, before handing it hastily over. 

Quirrell paused as he held the sheet, and she watched him with wide eyes and bated breath. His eyelids fluttered, his head dropping to his chest, and a low, rumbling snore filled the room. 

But then...it wasn’t a snore. No, it was too breathy, too high-pitched, and his shoulders shook for an entirely different reason. Quirrell’s head snapped back then, and she could see the mirth as clearly as his laughter rang through the room. 

“Ingenious!” he chortled, and finally he turned his burning gaze on them. She didn’t stay to hear any more- it was evident the plan hadn’t worked- and turned instead to flee but a jolt ran through her body and she was careening to the floor. 

Her eyes were open, though, and she watched as he bent down over her, poking her with the end of his wand. “So young Potter makes his move, hm? Smart boy, but not smart enough.” Then he smiled, and it was sharp with too many teeth and his eyes were a glowing, fiery, red. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know?” Hadrian said as they made the blustery walk from the castle to Hagrid’s hut. Theo shot him a look but said nothing, only wrapping his silver and green scarf tighter around his neck. Hadrian either didn’t feel it or had forgotten to wear his warm clothes again, and Theo made a mental note to get the boy a pair of dragonhide gloves at some point. Maybe if they were a gift the other boy would wear them more often (though he seriously doubted it- Hadrian would forget his head in a rush if it weren’t attached). 

“How was the potion?” he asked instead. 

“Hm?” Hadrian hummed, turning to him with a wrinkled brow before nodding. “Oh, it was fine. It should work. Daphne and Blaise won’t be going for a few more hours though, so Tracey said she’d test it somehow- I don’t know who she’ll use but maybe that third-year who called her a dumb mudblood will be falling asleep early tonight.” 

Theo didn’t say anything to that, unsurprised. He liked Tracey. She was studious and observant and unusually witty. Despite being one of the only half-bloods in Slytherin, she didn’t seem too hung up on proving her worth. He would be interested in knowing how she’ll manage to drug the third-year. Maybe next time he could help. 

They’d reached the sorry excuse for a home that the half-breed lived in and Theo waited a few paces behind Hadrian as he rapped on the door. The man answered soon enough, and Theo was glad when Hadrian wasted no time on pleasantries. “Hagrid, we know that the philosopher’s stone is being kept on the third-floor corridor under the Cerberus. What do you know about the protections?” 

The oaf blinked at Hadrian--well, _oafishly_ before speaking. “H-how’d yer know that?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know, just that I do,” Hadrian said back, and Theo could hear the impatience in his voice. Maybe now his friend would drop this friendly act he’d adopted for Perks’ sake and just get from the man what he wanted. “You provided the Cerberus- Fluffy, was it?- and I need to know what else is between hundreds of unsuspecting students and the most highly-sought-after magical artefact in wizarding Britain.” 

Hagrid didn’t say anything for a long moment, only wringing his hands in obvious distress. “I shouldn’a told yer about her, but Fluffy’s harmless. Really.” 

Hadrian sighed. “Okay then, Hagrid. Can I ask about Norbert? You said you won him.” 

Theo frowned because what did the half-giant’s gambling problem have to do with anything? 

“It’s Norbert _a_ apparently- Charlie wrote me and said she’s a girl.” Hadrian just gave the man a pointed stare which made his shoulders drop and puffed up chest deflate. “Righ’- er- I did win her. Some bloke- didn’t see his face ‘r anythin’- was talking about being able to handle a dragon and all it takes to care for one- wasn’t sure I was up to it. 

“Well, I told him that after Fluffy anythin’ else is a breeze!”

“Did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Hadrian asked. 

“Well ‘course he was! It’s not every day you come across a three-headed giant dog, d’you? But I told him- the secret to her is some music. Calms her right down.” 

Hadrian hummed, a satisfied look coming into his eyes that Theo could see even from the distance between them. Hagrid was back to wringing his large hands again. “Should’na told yer that,” he whispered to himself. 

Hadrian smiled his sweet, fake smile before patting the half-giant on the arm. “Don’t worry, Hagrid. Is there anything else you can tell me about the protections?” 

The man shook his head slowly. “The teachers have all placed protections on them. Well, not all of them. There’s Professor Sinistra, Professor Babbling, Professor Vector, Professor Kettleburn…”

“That’s great, Hagrid. You enjoy the rest of your evening and forget all about this, okay? No- don’t worry about Dumbledore, I’ll take care of it.” Theo watched as Hadrian reassured the big man that everything would be taken care of and soon enough the green-eyed boy was turning away and motioning for Theo to follow him. 

They didn’t speak on the way back to the castle but Hadrian summarily pulled him into a dark corner, waving his wand as he muttered some privacy spells. “Quirrell gave Hagrid the dragon.” 

“What?” he frowned, recoiling. “Why would he do that?” 

Hadrian just gave him a look that was part-disappointment, part-amusement. Theo fought the blush that stole up his neck and tried to think. Why would Quirrell give Hagrid a dragon? What did he gain? The man admitted that he didn’t know anything about the other teachers’ protections, and he’d still have to work out how to get past the Cerberus…

“Oh,” he said softly, looking at Hadrian with wide eyes. 

“Yes,” Hadrian agreed, but lips were twisted downwards with his brows furrowed. “He knows how to get past the first protection, and from the man was a Ravenclaw- it won’t take him long to figure out the others.” 

“The troll,” Theo gasped then, clutching at Hadrian’s robe. “He must have let it loose. Perhaps it was _his_ protection?” Hadrian nodded, and Theo couldn’t stop his thoughts from running in all manner of directions. None of the subjects was ones they hadn’t come across before, and while they’d had no particular trouble in class it by no means meant that they were experts. What if they came across fully-grown Mandrakes? What if they had to brew the antidote to Draught of Living Death? They didn’t cover that particular potion until NEWT level and the antidote was often brewed by Master Potioneers!

Still, he knew whatever it was that they would face down there, he’d not leave Hadrian or second-guess him. As he’d heard Hadrian say one time: in for a penny; in for a pound. 

(Theo ignored that he had no idea what either of those things were)

They passed the rest of the day in the library before heading down to the common room. They’d had to make a brief appearance in the Great Hall for dinner but neither of them had much of an appetite. Their entire group were simultaneously subdued and brimming with excitement for the night’s events. Tracey had let them know that her potion would work and Theo had never seen her so engaged in conversation at dinner than he did that night. There was a strange gleam to her eyes and her cat-like glasses added a predatory sense to her that made him smile. 

Daphne and Blaise were rather quiet, as was Milicent who had never been particularly in favour of anything that was to transpire that night. “I still think this is all a terrible idea,” she grumbled as the dinner platters disappeared and the desserts replaced them. Hadrian shot her a sharp look which had her ducking her head and looking away. 

Malfoy cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the Head Table where they saw Quirrell rising to leave. There was grace to his walk now, as if there had been a weight on his shoulders before that had left at the same time that Professor Snape did. At the centre of the table, Professor Dumbledore was watching them with eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles and flamboyantly flashing blue robes.

Theo turned away before he could let the familiar burn of anger make its way onto his face. 

“We’ll leave soon,” Hadrian said softly but he didn’t need to shout to be heard. He was holding a treacle tart (his favourite, Theo noticed) and his green eyes flicked up to connect briefly with each of theirs. He nodded before turning back to his food. “And Theo, you’ll have to deal with your pet.” 

The words had hardly left his mouth before he noticed that the rest of the table had grown quiet. Frowning, Theo twisted and watched with a silent groan as a bushy-haired Gryffindor approached, obviously nervous but with her chin held imperiously high. 

“T-Theo,” she squeaked, before taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, “I need to speak with you for a moment.” 

She didn’t ask him, the command clear in her voice, and he couldn’t stop the sneer that curled his lips and the way his fingers twitched towards his wand. Who was this _mudblood_ to make demands of him? Only his father and Hadrian had that right, and one of them just barely retained it (and their life, considering Theo wasn’t yet ready to take over the Nott estate and patricide was a rather taboo topic). 

He felt a calming, grounding hand be placed on his arm and noticed the upturn to Hadrian’s lips. “Humour her,” he murmured to him softly, and Theo heaved a sigh before nodding. 

“Of course, Granger,” he said as neutrally as possible, hardly looking in her direction as he rose from the table and gathered his bag. They didn’t go far, just beyond the doors of the Great Hall. “What is it?” 

Now, she wrung her hands and bit her lip and shook her wild mane of hair. “I-I can’t really explain it, but I don’t _trust_ Potter-” 

“It’s Potter- _Black_ ,” he cut in, already deciding to abandon the conversation. He couldn’t entertain this slander against his friend. He may not be a Puff or have the morality of a Lion but a Nott’s life was their word; they wouldn’t go against those they swore fealty to for all the Galleons in Gringotts. It was partly why Theo so disdained his father and why he knew one day they would face off on the battlefield- he on Hadrian’s side and Estevan on Voldemort’s. 

“I know he’s your friend!” she hastened to say, grabbing at his robes to stop him from leaving. He froze, glaring pointedly at her hand which forced her to retract it with a blush. “I know he’s famous and the Boy-Who-Lived but...he’s a bad person, I’m sure of it!” 

“Really?” he drawled, cocking a brow. “I suppose he is a bad person who saved your life, then?”

“I, well, _no_ \- but...he killed that troll!”

“Would you have rather it killed us?”

“But it wouldn’t have!” she protested, eyes wide. “I’m sure of it! The troll is too dumb to have found a way to kill us if we’d just...just captured it or knocked it out or something!” 

For a moment, Theo could only stare at her before a deep-set revulsion kicked in and he recoiled from her as if she carried some kind of contagious disease. _This_ idiocy is what the school heralded as the brightest witch of their age? Even Parkinson was aware of the danger of trolls and not so bigotted to believe them too stupid to find a way to kill their prey.

“Do you suppose,” he started slowly, as if talking to a person of particularly hard-hearing. “That wizards go about feeding all the trolls of the world? That they are incapable of hunting and killing their prey?”

“Of course not,” she smiled, brightly and wide, as if she felt they were friends engaging in academic discussion. “But this is not its natural habitat. How could it hope to stand up to three wixen with magic on their side? I’m certain that if we’d just incapacitated it somehow then we would have been perfectly safe. But Potter _drowned_ it instead and...he can’t be a good person.” 

Theo said nothing for a time before nodding. “Well, I encourage you to test out your theory. There are some known troll tribes in the Forbidden Forest and I urge you to pay them a visit. Whatever the outcome- whether you are proved right or I- the results would be most satisfactory to me.” 

Then he turned and noticed just at that moment the rest of his group were leaving. He caught up with them quickly enough, ignoring Blaise’s kissy noises and Daphne’s scowling. Hadrian turned to him with a secret smile, and the anger that always simmered on his chest flared suddenly for a completely different reason.

* * *

They sat in the common room for a long time, he and Hadrian pouring over all of their class textbooks. Theo did find it weird that Dumbledore had only teachers of only the core subject protecting the Stone. If he’d included the elective subjects, it would eliminate at least half the school; first and second years have no particular knowledge in them and the other students would only know two of the possible five. It would certainly limit who could potentially get anywhere near it. 

There must be more to it than Hagrid told them, but Theo didn’t think the man had the capacity to lie to them, especially not when Hadrian’s magic had been so thick in the air. Perhaps the half-giant simply didn’t know. 

Tracey flicked up a quick Tempus and they all noted the time to be nine-thirty. Daphne’s lips flattened before she straightened and pronounced that she would be going to get ready. They all sat in silence until she returned, her and Blaise fidgeting slightly. 

Hadrian stood and went to them, handing them a brooch of some kind. “Give me your hand.” He said this to Blaise first, and when the dark-skinned boy gave over his hand, Hadrian pricked it with the pin of the brooch before doing the same for Daphne. They watched the dark-haired boy chant under his breath, his tongue weaving lyrical sounds until the air sagged under the press of magic. “Don’t take them off for any reason, you understand?” He looked them both in the eyes before turning and reclaiming his seat, diving straight back into his book without another word. 

Daphne and Blaise left, though not before the blonde ran her brush through her hair once more and did something to her skirt. 

The tension amongst those remaining kicked up a notch. None of them spoke, and Malfoy looked vaguely like he was about to be ill. Still, they waited for fifteen minutes before Hadrian twitched suddenly before standing and going up to the dorms, returning with the bag Tracey had gotten him for Yule with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. Then he proceeded to hand out more of the same brooches he’d given to Daphne and Blaise, repeating the process of pricking their fingers and murmuring a chant. 

Now that he could see it better, Theo noticed that it was a protection brooch. There was the symbol of mars intertwined with the Triquetra. The former wasn’t all that uncommon, seen commonly engraved on some people’s wands or holsters but the second...Theo had seen the symbol only once before, and that was on the Nott Family Grimoire. 

Nobody spoke nowadays about the Triquetra; it was considered as something of a taboo topic. When the Old Ways were freely accepted, when there were mass public celebrations of Beltane and Ostara and Imbolc, when being a wizard was a source of pride and magic was sacred, people made the sign of the Triquetra the way Tracey spoke about muggles making the sign of the cross. It was sacred magic, Olde and strong and used only by those whose reverence for Lady Magic transcends all. 

He didn’t bother covering up the fact that his hand was trembling as he pinned the brooch to the front of his robes, right beside his Slytherin crest. Malfoy was studying the brooch with a strange look on his face, but he didn’t seem to understand the importance. No doubt Malfoy Sr. had thought to only educate his scion on the political sphere while ignoring all else. After all, who would expect to see such a symbol nowadays with the Olde Ways forbidden and forgotten?

Theo stood then, watching as Tracey did too. Hadrian threw her a glance but she only shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not missing out on this and it’s best not to waste time.” 

She was right, of course. Daphne and Blaise still weren’t back, and a quick Tempus showed the time to be ten pm. Hadrian repeated his orders to Malfoy and Bulstrode one last time before he nodded to both Theo and Tracey and the three of them swept out of the common room and into the darkened hallways on the dungeons. 

Theo didn’t know how Hadrian expected them to get from the dungeons all the way up to the [forbidden] third-floor corridor unseen, especially with the full force of teachers, prefects and Peeves floating about. His answer came in the form of a cloak. It seemed beautifully designed in an odd, very outdated fashion, and large enough to have probably been able to accommodate the half-breed somewhat. 

But there was something odd about it. It had a silvery quality that tugged at his mind as familiar, shimmering in the flickering candlelight and appearing satiny smooth but as thick as velvet. “An invisibility cloak,” he whispered when it clicked, sparing a moment of warmth when Hadrian threw him an approving look. 

“Yes,” he said and held it out. “Now let’s get under it before we’re seen.” 

There was plenty of space for the three of them to huddle underneath it, making short work of getting around the castle. It was surprisingly easy, especially when there were so many other students rushing to make it before a prefect could catch them or a professor could issue detention for being out late that they hardly paid any mind to bumping into seemingly nothing. 

Before he knew it, they were standing in the forbidden corridor, and Hadrian slipped the cloak into his bag before turning suddenly to them. His face was grave as he looked at them, green eyes oddly devoid of emotion and face as smooth as marble. 

“I must tell you now before you come with me,” he began, and his voice was as detached as he looked. Theo couldn’t help but frown; Hadrian had never been so...severe before. Fanatic, yes. Snappish, most certainly. Curt and blunt and distantly polite but this...it wasn’t even cold, but rather a complete lack of _anything_. It scared Theo more than anything. 

“What is it, Ian?” he asked, voice pitched softly in a way the other boy had always responded to. Even now, with his stony mask firmly in place, Theo could feel the warm flick of the other boy’s magic against his own. 

“Quirrell isn’t entirely himself.” 

“We know this, Hadrian,” Tracey said, brows furrowed. It was true; Hadrian had said that before when he’d first told him of his insanely genius plan. 

“Yes, but you may not be aware that he is actually being possessed. Or who he’s being possessed by.” 

None of them spoke for a moment as they tried to understand the words. _Possessed_? They weren’t all too common, despite the myths and legends. It took an immense amount of power to sustain possession, a bit like having someone constantly under the Imperious. Not only did it drain the host but it took a toll on the parasitic entity as well, and it could not be maintained for more than a year before both destroy each other. Before then, the parasite would have to completely consume the host’s magic or the host would have to fight off the parasite. 

Nobody, barring Dumbledore and perhaps Professor Snape, could sustain a possession for so long. Nobody else had that _power_ -

Theo felt his heart stutter in his chest as the pieces came together. All of those ‘accidents’ in Defense Against the Dark Arts _had_ seemed oddly concentrated around Hadrian, and there was that time after Hadrian’s first match when his broom had been hexed and he’d visited the man’s office and returned ever-changed. But surely Dumbledore wouldn’t _allow_ that? 

“I don’t know what Dumbledore knows,” Hadrian said simply, surprising him, though really it shouldn’t- Hadrian had a knack for answering unspoken questions. “I don’t know what his role in all of this is, if there is any. But it is important that you know.” 

“Know _what_?” demanded Tracey, and Theo could hear the frustration and confusion in her voice. 

“Voldemort.” He said the word so casually, the same way he did ‘apple’ or ‘grass’, like it was nothing more than a common word and ignoring both his and Tracey’s violent flinch and shudders. 

“V-V... _him?”_ And then Tracey seemed to space out for a moment, eyes somewhat glassy behind her glasses before her brow wrinkled and her lips pressed together. Then her face smoothed, and there was that same dangerous glint in her eye that he’d seen at dinner. “Alright,” she said, nodding, before she repeated herself and nodded again. 

Hadrian watched them both for a moment. “You’re sure? If you go against him now, and he finds out you knew who he really was all along, you and your families will be in danger. Clearly, he is not as dead as everyone thought.” 

Hadrian was right (why did he bother to think that anymore? Hadrian was _always_ right) that it could prove to be tricky in the future, but Theo’s mind was made up long before he’d known that they would be facing off with the Dark Lord. He thinks he would walk in there beside Hadrian even if they were going up against Merlin himself. 

Perhaps Theo imagined it then, but it looked as if a great weight fell from his friend then, and the three of them nodded silently to each other before Hadrian gestured for him to unlock the door. 

A simple _Alohomora_ did it, and walking into that room was like following after the troll all over again. Tracey had her wand poised, ready to cast at the three-headed beast that Hadrian had described earlier. Soft music filled the air, trilling and soft and it took Hadrian sending a mild stunner at him for him to jolt his eyes open. 

“Apparently the plan didn’t work,” Tracey pointed out, nodding to the harp that plucked itself in the corner. The Cerberus was snoring in the corner of the room, drool dripping its jowls and the dust swirling in mini tornadoes from the force of its several exhales. 

Hadrian didn’t look too pleased. There was a tightening around his mouth and hardening to his eyes. For a brief moment, Theo thought he could see a thick black shroud form in the air around him, heavy and crackling with energy before it disappeared. 

“Let’s go.” 

The trap door was open and emitted an odd, earthy kind of smell that reminded Theo of the greenhouses they used in Herbology, but the darkness prevented them from seeing just what it was. Tracey lifted her want and cast “ _Lumos Pila.”_ A ball of light floated out of her wand to hover in the air. She directed it like one would do a leviosa, until it illuminated the space beneath them. 

There was a tangle of plants, thick and moving sluggishly. “Devil's Snare,” he said, sighing and shaking his head. Having multiple protections for the Stone was only good if they weren’t so easy. The half-breed didn’t seem capable of keeping his mouth shut for all the world, and they learnt how to deal with this particular plant in the first half of first year. What kind of ‘protection’ was that?

Still, he said, “It won’t hurt us as long as we don’t struggle. We’ll fall through and see whatever farce of a protection they have set up.” Hadrian didn’t look too happy about that, though. He shook his head. 

“Didn’t Professor Sprout teach us that rhyme about it? Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare, is deadly fun-” 

“But will sulk in the sun!” Tracey exclaimed. Theo noticed Hadrian’s small smile before the dark-haired boy was slashing his wand through the air. A ball of fire shot from the tip and there was the faint sound of squealing and the smell of burning rose from the pit below them. 

“Problem solved,” Hadrian said with a wink before jumping in. Theo held his breath until he heard Hadrian call up to them. “Are you coming down or what?” 

Soon enough all three of them found themselves in a dark chamber with a narrow staircase. The walls, like the rest of the castle, was stone and held no warmth. All three first-years wore only their school cloaks and the last time Hadrian had tried the warming charm he’d accidentally set fire to the ends of his robes, so they opted for dragging their robes tighter to their bodies and hurrying up the steps. 

Just as the temperature dropped sharply so that their breaths hung visibly in the air, they came upon a door which, after casting the detecting charm that Professor Snape had taught him, Hadrian pushed it open. The room beyond was vast, with a ceiling that he couldn’t quite make out and dozens of winged creatures flying lazily about in the air above them. In the centre of the room hovered a broom, nothing as fancy as Hadrian’s Nimbus but better than a Cleansweep, if the shape of the bristles and Malfoy’s incessant prattling was anything to go by. 

Theo had never seen or read about birds that looked like these, with their strangely skeletal frames which glinted slightly in the moonlight that filtered in from the high windows. Perhaps it would have been better if Hadrian had brought Perks along with him, she surely would have known all about them. 

Pretty soon they figured out that they were _keys_ and one of them would unlock the door since Tracey’s _Alohomora_ did nothing. Theo could have told them that it wouldn’t work; the glowing light of an enchantment shone too brightly for him to look at directly. None of them would be able to undo it without the key. 

Tracey had argued that they ought to find another way because the broom was undoubtedly spelled, but Hadrian pointed out that it would take too long. 

“That one’s wing is broken. Quirrell’s been and gone and we don’t have enough _time!_ ” he growled. “You two stand by the door, just in case.” Then he threw his shoulders back and threw his leg over the broom. 

As soon as his hand touched the broom all the keys halted, their wings silencing for a brief second before diving. Hadrian kicked up from the ground with the same finesse he showed on the Quidditch pitch but the keys were undeterred and followed closely behind, swarming and stabbing him. Theo could see his friend’s robes tearing under the keys’ assault and the room was filled with the noise of hundreds of flapping wings and the sound of bronze bouncing off stone walls. The key with the broken wing, which had been hovering just as lazily as all the others before, was zipping about as quickly as the snitch did, and if Theo had never seen Hadrian fly before then he would have doubted whether the other boy could catch it. 

As it was, Hadrian spun about in the air, ducking and weaving and executing complicated manoeuvres that had the keys embedding themselves into the stone walls. Then Hadrian spotted it, fluttering close to the ground, and Theo knew from the way that the boy set his jaw and the hard glint in his eyes exactly what he was planning to do. 

Hadrian dove, faster than he’d ever done before, vertical and cutting through the air at a speed too fast to possibly pull out of quick enough. Tracey shouted a curse from beside him but Hadrian didn’t pay it any attention, shifting his body forward on the broom. 

Theo’s heart thudded in his chest. What was he _doing_? Bad enough that he was going so fast, so vertically, but moving around so much on the broom could send it in a completely different direction and the area he was aiming for was close enough to a set of jagged walls already. The wrong shift and he could smash straight into them. 

And then...then time slowed and his breath and heart and _everything_ stopped. 

Hadrian had launched himself off the broom, ignoring as it smashed into the wall where his head would have impacted with the wall. His hand snatched out in the air half-a-second before he curled his body into a ball and fell to the floor. 

“Hadrian!” Theo screamed, racing over to his friend. Hadrian hadn’t moved yet (Theo ignored that it had been hardly a second since he’d fallen) and Theo was fearing the worst. A knot had formed in his stomach and he felt sick and there were tears in his eyes and _this couldn’t be real, he couldn’t be gone, not him not now not ever not Hadrian_ -

“Urgh,” muttered a groggy voice, and startlingly clear jade green eyes opened, searching for a moment before connecting with his. Hadrian smiled, and it was small but sincere and Theo swore that when they made it out of here he’d hex the boy into next week. “Don’t cry, Theo,” he smirked, rolling to his feet with all the grace of a cat. 

Theo sniffed, turning his flaming face away as he wiped at his tears. “Shut up, you prat.” 

Tracey whacked Hadrian upside the head when they reached where she was standing, and not even the green-eyed boy dared to make mention of the tears that were in her eyes. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hadrian groaned as they walked into the next room, closing the heavy door behind them. Theo could only huff out a laugh as he walked around the room, taking notice of the set-up as he stepped over the broken pieces lining the sides. It was a giant chessboard. 

They tried to walk straight through it but the pawns made it very clear that that wasn’t the way out. 

“We have to play our way across,” Tracey said, and her voice was smaller than Theo had ever heard it. For the first time her mousy features fit her disposition, as her shoulders were hunched and her eyes were darting about the room for a way out. 

“Play?” echoed Hadrian, “You’d have to take point for this, Theo.”

Theo tried to keep his grin under wraps, but he probably didn’t succeed. His heart was thudding against his ribs as they took their places, Hadrian to the bishop, Tracey as the bishop and he as the knight. 

There was something about this that had his blood racing and the smile he’d been working to repress spread across his face as he called out commands to the various pieces. Tracey squeaked when the first pawn was obliterated, sliced through as easily as if it were paper and showering them with bits of concrete. He only hoped that his laugh was covered up by the booming sound. 

The game was in full swing, and every time a piece was taken Theo felt his heart beat that much harder and his laughs were pulled from him more easily, his smiles wider. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so _alive._

But it soon became apparent what needed to be done, and he supposed that if it weren’t for how exhilarating the danger was he’d have been a sobbing mess. As it was, he only turned to Hadrian (because Tracey had already made it to the other side safely) with a steely resolve and a slightly deranged smile on his face. 

“Once I move,” he started in a surprisingly stable voice, “you’ll be free to take the king. You understand?” 

Hadrian just looked at him before shaking his head, whipping his wand out as he glared at the White Queen. “No. There must be something else. Not you, Theo. _Not you_.” 

Theo could only laugh, though it was more high-pitched than he’d thought it would be and it was slightly choked at the end because wasn’t that the exact same thing he’d thought when he’d seen Hadrian lying there in a crumpled heap? Weren’t those the exact same words that had rung in his head on an endless, breathless loop? 

“Don’t cry, Ian,” he smiled, though he knew the tears in his eyes were evident. “Think logically. There’s no point to Tracey and I going forward; we can’t beat him. You can. You _will_.” Hadrian looked like he was ready to argue so Theo just smiled again and drew himself up, reaching for the cool, pureblood demeanour that had been drilled into him for as long as he could remember. “Now,” he said, and his voice was as cold and commanding as Estevan’s ever was, “when I move, the Queen will take me. That leaves you free to take the king and get this over with.”

He didn’t give Hadrian any time to respond or himself any time to back out. He straightened up, his shoulders thrown back and chin tipped imperiously high. His hands didn’t tremble as he took the single step forward. His gaze remained fixed as the Queen’s arm drew back before flying towards him. 

He didn’t even remember making a sound as sudden blackness wrapped tightly around him and the world around him faded away. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Milicent’s heart hammered in her chest as she navigated the halls, heading upstairs and entering Gryffindor territory. The moonlight slanted through the numerous windows and filled the castle with an eerie light that she just _knew_ heralded bad things. 

She didn’t know why she agreed to this...this madness! Actually, she did but perhaps she’d have to rethink her priorities if this all went pear-shaped. 

Hadrian had proved to be the most powerful child in their year and most likely the next three above him. Milicent’s parents hadn’t put as much pressure on her as the others’ did. The Bulstrode's were a well-to-do family and fell somewhat neutral on the political spectrum. They’d had a long-standing history of producing brilliant Legal Wizards representing all manner of people, from the corrupt Lords of the Wizengamot to the mad wizards who went muggle-baiting. 

Hadrian didn’t offer her much. Of course, he would be the next big thing for the Wizarding World (already was, really) but not being so closely affiliated to him wouldn’t have hurt her prospects for going into Law. She wasn’t interested in going into politics so she didn’t _need_ to cultivate connections to the same degree. But there was just something about the boy, something that told her to stay and listen and learn- 

“Miss Bulstrode,” a stern voice interrupted, and Milicent felt her heart stop for a second. 

“P-professor,” she squeaked, blinking up at the tall Scottish woman. As usual, McGonagall had her lips pressed into a thin line and a stern expression on her face. “I was wondering if I could talk to Professor Dumbledore. It’s urgent!” 

McGonagall regarded her with narrowed eyes for a moment before speaking. “Well, whatever it is you’ll have to tell me because the Headmaster is out on business.” 

Milicent felt her heart drop into her feet. Out on business? What business could the man have other than staying to protect the blasted stone he’d brought into the school full of children! 

“Miss Bulstrode?” 

“It’s about the Stone, Professor!” she cried finally, because her nerves were shot to hell and- well, there was no other Slytherin around to see anyway. “Professor Quirrell is going to try and get it and Daphne and Blaise haven’t returned and Hadrian and Theo and Tracey have gone for it instead and they’re in danger, I _know_ it, and Draco’s going to get Professor Snape but I don’t know if they’ll be strong enough because we needed Professor Dumbledore and now they’re all going to die and-” 

“ _Miss Bulstrode!”_

Milicent fell silent, panting slightly. She noticed a wetness on her cheeks and hastily wiped it away, sniffling as quietly as she could. 

“I don’t know how you know about the Stone,” McGonagall continued, “but now is not the time for spreading tales. Professor Quirrell is a member of this staff and would no more do anything to the stone than _I_ would. It’s best you return to your dorm and stay there. Miss Greengrass, Mr Zabini and Mr Malfoy will be found and returned as well.” 

Milicent’s jaw had dropped as she stared up at her Transfigurations teacher. “But Professor!” she cried, tears welling again in her eyes. “It’s _true_! Quirrell is going for the Stone and Hadrian is going to stop him. You have to _help_!” Suddenly, her fear and desperation morphed into anger. “Your job is to help! Do your job!” 

The window closest to them cracked, spider webs crackling along the glass and all the way up, distorting the light that filtered through. 

“Enough!” McGonagall shouted, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed. “Twenty points from Slytherin and detention tomorrow night with Filch for such flagrant disrespect. You would do well to hold your tongue.” 

Milicent glared, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. It seems Hadrian was right; they would have to do this themselves. She threw her shoulders back and tipped her chin up, giving McGonagall one last sneering curl of her lip before turning back for the dungeons. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Draco huffed impatiently as he knocked again on the door to Professor Snape’s quarters. He’d been banging on the portrait for the past fifteen minutes with no response. Was the man so tired that he couldn’t hear? That couldn’t be it, because the man had revealed that he had monitoring charms on his portrait which let him know whenever anyone came close. What was keeping him? 

“Professor!” he shouted against the portrait. “Professor open up! It’s important!” 

There was no response so Draco sighed and turned to leave just as a voice stopped him. 

“Draco?” The blond spun, but there was nobody there. “Draco what is it?” 

The voice seemed to be coming from the portrait which, now that he was really looking at it and not trying to see _beyond_ it, he noticed the vague outline of a face and the tell-tale hooked nose. 

“The Philosopher’s Stone is in danger!” Draco rushed out. “Tracey and I brewed the Sleeping Drought earlier because Professor Nutteloose let us brew yesterday and Daphne and Blaise took it to Professor Quirrell- who’s _evil_ , Uncle Sev!- but they haven’t returned! Something’s gone wrong, I know it has and-” 

“-and Professor McGonagall won’t help us!” 

Draco spun around to find a panting Milicent bent over, trying to catch her breath. She came closer, eyes wide and suspiciously red-rimmed. “She told me not to be silly and gave me detention. You have to believe us, Professor! Hadrian, Theo and Tracey are in danger!” 

Draco just nodded emphatically beside her, ignoring the twinge of annoyance that crawled in his stomach. This was _his_ mission, _his_ job given to him by Hadrian to complete. Still, if Hadrian was in trouble then he wouldn’t let pettiness get in the way. There would be other chances. 

Snape didn’t say anything for a while, but then, “Go to the common room and _stay there_ ,” he ordered in that deep, scary way of his. “Myself and the Headmaster will make our way there now. Has Hadrian gone for the Stone?” 

Draco nodded, but then he thought that his professor probably couldn’t see him so he affirmed it out loud. Snape swore something fierce and colourful, something Draco filed away for later use. “Go,” the man said again, and Draco looked to Milicent before they turned and fled. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Minerva fumed as she stormed through the halls of the castle, heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. How dare she, that disrespectful little girl! She’d been teaching and _doing her job_ for more years than the girl had eaten hot meals. Not once in all that time had she been accused of not doing what was best for the students of Hogwarts- not once! 

She muttered angrily under her breath as she made her way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, knocking on the door and shifting impatiently. There was no response, not even after she knocked a further three times and waited for five minutes. 

Now, unease prickled down her spine, the sort that had reared its head the day she’d written up the acceptance letters for this year’s first-years. Her wand was out and in her hand and a second later the door was swinging open. 

“Quirinus!” she called, crossing the empty classroom towards the office at the top. The door to that was locked as well, and she supposed it could be that the man wasn’t in there but his quarters, which was attached to the office through another door. Maybe the classroom door was too far away and nothing insidious had happened, all was well and Bulstrode would serve her detention for causing such a ruckus. 

But the door didn’t open as she knocked, and she unlocked that one as well. As it swung slowly open, Minerva felt the air freeze in her lungs. 

There were two small bodies on the floor, one with fair hair and skin and wide, teals eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling while the other lay crumpled in a heap by the desk, unmoving. 

Minerva let out a strangled, choked noise that caught in her throat as her knees crumpled and she fell to the soft carpet, hands hovering uselessly over the still bodies for a moment. No, her brain screamed at her, even as her hands trembled and her breaths came faster. No, no, no. This...this couldn’t be happening. Not so soon. Not _again_. 

She’d seen too many of her students like this. She'd watched their awe-struck expressions the first time they'd seen the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. A lot of them, too many- _most_ \- had ended up exactly like this, cold and lifeless and staring at a ceiling or sky that they could no longer see. 

Except, as her hands which shook as hard as a leaf on a nearly naked tree crawled over the carpet to grasp the girl’s hand, she noticed that it was warm and a pulse pumped under her fair skin. 

“Oh God,” she choked out, tears of relief spilling over her cheeks. She didn’t use the muggle phrase often, but her father had always said it when he’d returned from a particularly taxing day of Auror duty. “Oh, Merlin.” 

Minerva steeled herself, grasping for her fallen wand before waving it and muttering the rudimentary diagnosis charm all teachers had been taught. Both students’ results came back positive, under a particularly powerful stunner. Nothing else. They both breathed, they both _lived_. She was about to levitate them to the infirmary when she realised just what this meant. Quirrell wasn’t here but two stunned children were, and Nott, Davis, _Hadrian_. 

“Albus,” she gasped into her conjured Patronus, “the Stone! It’s Quirrell and- come quickly. The children are in danger!” 

She watched the cat race away and could only pray that it reached the old man in time. Now, she had two students to attend to and a school to protect. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Severus was bored to tears and for the thousandth time that night cursed Albus’ name. Why on earth the senile old man thought it would be beneficial to have him at this meeting with the School Board was beyond him. Even worse was the old man’s insistence that it happen _tonight_ of all nights. He’d been working all week to replace the Ministry’s potions, and while he’d enjoyed having no other obligation than to brew, he was tired. 

It hadn’t taken him long to replace their stock. Indeed, he’d finished within three days, opting to forgo sleep in order to get it done and spend the rest of time working on some experimental potions. It was a bitch trying to get half of the ingredients, but with free reign and no budget, he’d completed more than one of his previously unbrewed creations and even started the base for a few more. 

Still, while the potions had been simmering and boiling, his thoughts turned often to his students, the Slytherins he hoped wouldn’t be getting into trouble and- invariably- Hadrian. The boy was a constant source of worry, and Severus would ordinarily be spitting with fury for being reduced to _worry_ for anyone else but the boy had somehow wormed his way into a place of...affection, if nothing else. 

Lucius was at the meeting, as was Augusta Longbottom and Lady Smith who was going on about someone harbouring a dragon or something of the sort. Severus really didn’t care, and wouldn’t even feign interest. 

One of Albus’ alarms had gone off, and the man had glanced at the glass ball with a small furrow of his brows before nodding to himself and continuing the conversation. It was more-than-likely the Twins wreaking havoc on the castle in the Headmaster’s absence. Oh, how Severus wished to be the one to catch them. He’d only had the pleasure once before, in their second year, and he’d set them to scrubbing the boy’s toilets for two weeks straight with a toothbrush for flooding it with goo. Minerva was stern but always biased towards her Lions in a bid not to lose the House Cup. 

Half-an-hour later, his wand trilled in his pocket, startling him. One of his monitoring charms were going off, though which one he couldn’t quite determine yet. It wouldn’t be the classroom one, because he’d had to take it off once Nuttleloose had come to take over the post. Perhaps it was a stray student wondering past, though what they were doing up at this hour was beyond him. One of the teachers or prefects should catch them soon enough. 

The wand trilled again, more insistently. He ignored it for a while, but after fifteen minutes passed, he excused himself and went to check what it could be. Needless to say, he was surprised to hear Draco calling out for him, and the next two minutes made the dread that never quite went away flood his body and turn his blood to ice. He ordered Draco and Bulstrode back to the common room one final time before striding into the meeting, the door slamming against the wall. 

“Albus, we need to go. _Now_ ,” his voice brooked no argument, and he didn’t even care that he’d cut into Lady Smith’s tirade against something else. The woman was little more than a harpy. If her hair was red and she was a little plumper and without riches, she and Molly Weasley could perhaps pass as twins. 

“Ah, Severus,” Albus smiled, holding up a calming hand. “This meeting is not scheduled to finish for quite a while. The board have many things to discuss and it would not do to postpone it-” 

But the man was cut off as a spectral thing ran into the room, hovering not far from the old man’s crooked nose. “Albus,” the voice warbled out, and it was the fact that it sounded thick with tears that it took Severus so long to identify it as Minerva’s, even with the cat Patronus right there in front of him. “the Stone! It’s Quirrell and- come quickly. The children are in danger!” 

Nobody spoke or moved for a moment before the room broke into loud chatter. Every member was shouting over the other demanding to know what exactly is endangering the children. 

“Albus,” Severus growled. He would leave on his own if need be, but he knew it would be faster if he could apparate straight in; only the Headmaster could do that. The old man stood quickly, waving his hands for silence. 

“If you would excuse us,” he stated, waving Severus closer. “It appears we have been forced to postpone. Perhaps next week, same time?” Severus went over to the man, grasping his arm. Just before he was squeezed through the tube of space and time, he caught Lucius’ eye and nodded. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Hadrian's mind was strangely blank as he stepped into the final chamber, the flames licking at his back. This room was as large as all the others but was strangely empty. He supposed this must be Dumbledore's test, then, but he didn’t know what it could be. There was a figure in the room, a distance away, and for a wild moment, Hadrian thought it to be the old Headmaster ready to scold him for his nighttime adventure. It would make sense for the man to know the exact moment that someone entered the forbidden room with the slumbering Cerberus. Perhaps the man had already apprehended Quirrell and dealt with Voldemort. Wasn't Dumbledore the only man the Dark Lord had ever feared? 

Still, he walked steadily on with a resolve he didn't entirely feel. He wasn’t quaking as he’d been in his nightmares, and his hands didn’t tremble and his steps never faltered. He didn’t think there was anything giving him away on his face. Rather, there was a strange, numbing coolness that had spread throughout him ever since he’d watched Theo get tossed aside so carelessly by the Queen. 

Tracey had been quick to discover which potion worked in the following chamber and Hadrian had wasted no time in ensuring that she took the one that allowed her to go back and take Theo to the infirmary. Theo hadn’t moved even when he’d shaken him, hadn’t so much as stirred when he’d smacked his face and dug his nails into his arms. Clearly, they couldn’t account for everything, and while Hadrian knew that he wasn’t a nice person, probably wasn’t even a _good_ person, he couldn’t let an innocent person die because of him. 

“I’m surprised you made it this far. Didn’t think you’d get past the chess pieces.” 

The voice was as clear and steady as it had been all week, no sign of the stutters or flinching that he’d put on all year. Quirrell faced him calmly with a slight smirk on his face. Hadrian said nothing. 

“Ah,” the man continued, nodding. “You took someone along. Nott? Davis? _Both_?” he chuckled. “You do seem fond of your lackeys. A shame. You rely on them so heavily, like that Greengrass girl and the Italian. She’s a pretty one, they both are. I suppose they’re not to your tastes though, are they?” 

Hadrian wondered if the man never tired of the sound of his own voice, but supposed not. Here was the man calling himself Voldemort, coward enough to assume a name that literally proved cowardice. 

“I am not here to listen to you dictate a novel, Voldemort,” he said, and the disinterest in his voice wasn’t put-on. The older man laughed. 

“So you _do_ know? And you still dare to draw your wand?” A wide smile split the man’s face. “Perhaps the House of Snakes was the wrong one for you, little Lion.” 

“You’re not the first to say that,” Hadrian growled back. 

“I am not one to be proved wrong.” 

“Except for when it comes to me.” Hadrian didn’t wait any longer before he was flinging spells at the man, not with any particular aim but just to disrupt the onslaught of words. Quirrell laughed again, lifting shield after shield. Sometimes, Hadrian could see the man shift forward, ready to strike, but his body seemed strangely clumsy, as if his brain was working faster than the body. Perhaps it was the side-effect of possession. 

Hadrian managed to graze the man’s arm, drawing first blood, and the smile that rose to his face was almost feral. Despite the distance between them, Hadrian could almost smell it, tangy and coppery but tainted. The man was sick. No, more than that…

The shadows beneath the man’s eyes seemed deeper, and there was sweat on his brows which made the ever-present turban slip slightly to reveal a perfectly bald head. Quirrell stumbled backwards, and it was only then that Hadrian noticed the object in the room with them. 

It was just as ornate as the first time he's laid eyes on it. The words were just as ornately carved, arcing across the top, both senseless and weighty in their meaning. Hadrian's eyes caught on the Mirror of Erised just as it did in his dreams every night and he could feel the pull, the compulsion he'd never quite been able to shake off. He knew that if he let it, if he gave in for only a moment then he could lose himself in its thrall. 

It was only a second, but a second was all it took for Quirrell to cast and _in_ _carcarous_ and he was bound in ropes too tightly for him to move. His wand clattered uselessly to his feet (just like Runcorn's had when he'd duelled her-- and wasn't _that_ infuriating!). The silent conjuration seemed to have taken a lot out of him though, because by the time that Quirrell had grabbed the scruff of Hadrian’s robes and pulled him in front of the mirror, he was panting as if he’d just run a marathon. 

How was this the same man who had wandlessly and silently brought Hadrian to his knees only a few months ago? Where had that power gone?

“Look,” the man hissed, grabbing a fistful of Hadrian’s hair and forcing it towards the mirror. “Look, and tell me what you see.” 

In front of it, in the face of its full thrall, he couldn’t resist. Hadrian’s eyes locked on the mirror and the sight so painfully familiar to him appeared. 

When he'd first read the inscription on the mirror, Hadrian hadn't thought that this was what he’d see. He’d imagined himself in some grand mansion, clothed in the finest robes with scores and scores of people bowing to him, gazing up at him with adoring eyes and hungry faces. He knew how much smarter he was than them all, how much better. It was only fitting, really, to be acknowledged for the royalty that he was. 

He’d been fully prepared to stare into a slightly older, smirking face that had everything he had ever longed for, and he’d been right, to a degree. 

He was older, in the mirror, about eighteen-years-old. It was undoubtedly him, with the unruly head of hair and sparkling green eyes, but his smile was softer, gentle, _real_ and he hadn’t been alone in where he stood. 

To his left, slightly behind him, was a person he could have sworn was his twin if not for the grey hairs at the man’s temples and the round glasses on his face, so like the ones he’d once worn. The man had a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder, and he could see a gold wedding band glinting. 

On his other side was a woman with hair like blood and a smile like the sun. He knew who she was from the colour of her eyes, the exact same shade as his, and sparkling with such pure joy he thought for sure she’d burst out in song. 

(And wouldn’t it be great to hear her sing? To hear her voice? Something, something other than the screams and flashes of green light that would invade his dreams every now-and-then. Something nice.)

Sally-Anne was there, too. He could only recognize her because of her hair, like spun gold, like someone had captured the sun and woven it into strands of hair which they’d sewn to her head. Her blue eyes were wide and she was beaming at him in the same way she’d done after Snape had left and they’d realised that they could get away from the orphanage. 

And _of course_ Theo was there. He, like Hadrian, was older, his face devoid of any lingering baby fat. His hair was just as dark as ever, but he'd grown it out in the way Hadrian had always hoped to see. Even now, staring into the mirror, his fingers twitched with the longing to run through those silky-soft strands. Most noticeable were Theo's eyes, though. they burned amber, like the strongest of liquor. And they danced-- they danced with mirth and joy and a madness Hadrian didn't even know if the boy possessed. Theo's forehead rested against Hadrian's cheek, tickling his neck, and he laughed. 

The other faces were a little hard to make out but Hadrian knew who they were. Draco was lounging at his feet, spread out like the dramatic diva he was and bickering with Zabini whole was sprawled out on the floor by Sally-Anne’s feet, waving his hands in the air in the showman’s way he hadn’t left behind yet. Daphne and Milicent were beaming at each other while Tracey hunched over a stack of books, her hair all mussed up and ink stains smudged on her cheeks and--

They were happy. Hadrian didn’t know where they were, where they stood, but it was safe and they were happy and normal and it was all he’d ever wanted, really. A place to be him, Just Harry, and people to be with. 

But then, mirror him did something he’d never done before. He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a stone, blood red and as large as his hand with a strangely glowing centre. Mirror Hadrian winked before putting it back in his pocket. 

Hadrian felt a sudden weight on him. 

“What did you see?” Quirrell hissed, turning him. Hadrian glared up at him, wriggling his fingers to try and loosen the ropes but they didn’t give. He wasn’t sure if he had enough control to loosen them just a bit and not completely unravel them. He’d be able to take Quirrell, he was sure of it, but the element of surprise never hurt. 

“Nothing,” he lied. “I saw Slytherin winning the Quidditch and House Cup and I saw Professor Dumbledore shaking my hand as he made me Head Boy. Everyone was there. They all chanted my name. They all bowed to me.” 

Quirrell stared at him before stalking away, snarling to himself in hushed whispers. Hadrian couldn’t hear the hushed conversation very well so he concentrated on getting his hands free. His wand had always responded to his summons, so that was never the issue. The problem was knowing when to strike and what spells to use first. He wouldn’t overthink it like before, wouldn’t hesitate. 

“ _Show him to me_ ,” a garbled voice whispered, and Hadrian paused, looking about. Quirrell hunched in on himself, quivering in the way he had all year. 

“B-but master, y-y-you aren’t s-strong enough yet,” he whimpered in response, flinching as the other voice retorted sharply _“Show him!”_

Quirrell’s hands were trembling as he reached up to undo his turban. Slowly, it unravelled to pool by his feet in a heap of purple velvet. Then, when he was done and bald, Quirrell slowly turned and Hadrian felt his stomach revolt. 

On the back of the man’s head was another face, ghastly pale with someone indistinct features save for two red, gleaming eyes that stared straight at him. 

“ _Harry Potter_ ,” it hissed, and Hadrian supposed it probably attempted something like a sneer but there wasn’t enough skin to complete the look properly. “ _We meet again_.” 

Hadrian abandoned his plan for surprise, shaking his hands free of the ropes and calling his wand to him in one swift move. “You were supposed to be the greatest wizard of all?” he couldn’t help but question. 

The... _thing_ hissed a laugh. “ _Yes...yes, I am. Do you see? See what you have reduced me to? Living the life of a mere parasite to a bumbling fool!”_ Hadrian shifted as a spark of magic arced into the air, but it fizzled out rather quickly. 

“You were the fool,” he retorted, and his face was wrinkled in disgust. “You were defeated by a baby and now you have a life no better than a flea. You disgust me.” 

Hadrian could see the fury in those eyes, but the face just laughed again. _“Disgust_!” it echoed. _“Oh, how alike we are, young Potter. I was just like you when I was at Hogwarts. Charming and smart and powerful. But I never had a name.”_ Quirrell was walking backwards now, so that the face never lost sight of him. “ _We could work together, you and I. Your parents were foolish, they died for a cause that did not favour them. You and I know how muggles are. We know the truth of the world_.” 

Quirrell and the face were closer now, and it was only when Hadrian felt the cool stone at his back that he realised he’d been backing up. He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his wand. 

“ _Magic is Might, Hadrian, and there are none more magical than us. Give me the Stone in your pocket and we can rule together, above the other idiots and scum of the world. We are above them all, let us prove it so._ ” 

Hadrian’s breaths were coming harshly as he stared into the red eyes. Voldemort was right. He was better than them. He was better than the muggles who’d left him on the orphanage steps when he was four, freezing and starving and half-dead. He was better than Madam Ida and the others who’d locked him in the cellar or basement so often for being different. He was better than these wizarding adults and their double standards and all these incessant children with their whining and incompetence and pettiness. 

He was better than them, so much better than them. 

And he was better than _this,_ too. This was bigotry and arrogance- and that way lies danger. Hadrian knew he was better than so many others but that didn’t mean he wanted to rule them. He wanted to take care of him and his and if the rest of the world burned, then so be it. 

“No,” he growled out and then he thrust his hand out and called “ _Niger dissertio.”_ He didn’t know where the spell came from, had never read it in any book and was fairly sure that Snape had never mentioned it, but it left his hand in waves of pure, dark magic. It was like that time in Dumbeldore’s office when all he’d wanted was to rip and burn and destroy but this time it was...different, like he could feel the magic in his blood. 

Quirrell stumbled backwards (or rather, forwards) and swayed on his feet. The red eyes were gleaming at him and the face distorted in fury, warping before it screeched _“Seize him! Kill him! Get the Stone!”_

Quirrell was still stumbling so Hadrian took the opportunity to lunge for the door. It would have been simple to stay, easy to decide to duel it out like equals, but that bout of wandless magic had drained him and he could feel exhaustion creeping up. If all else had gone to plan, then help would be here soon (though how much Hadrian relied on _that_ was dubious at best). There was no finesse to the way he ran, he just did, with the same single-minded focus he'd adopted when he was outrunning Dudley even at the tender age of three. His head was on fire with pain and there were spells landing on either side of him but when he was close to the door, hardly a metre away, he was knocked aside. 

Quirrell was panting and his arms trembled as he wrestled with Hadrian but managed to turn him over and wrap his hands around Hadrian’s throat. 

The sensation was similar. The air had all been cut off and hands scrabbled at his throat to throw the weight off. Quirrell was screaming above him and it was only through watery eyes that he could make out the way the hands hissed and sizzled wherever they came into contact with his skin. 

“Master!” the man screamed, eyes wide and panicking. “Master my hands! I cannot touch him!”

_“Kill him! Are you a wizard or not, you fool!”_

But Hadrian didn’t give him a chance. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the way his head screamed at him in favour of grabbing at whatever skin he could reach. He dug his fingers into Quirrell’s eyes, pulled at his nose and flattened his palms against his cheeks. He didn’t close his eyes as he watched Quirrell’s skin hardened and turn to stone, didn’t let go even as the mad keeled over to his side and his face started to crumble. 

Not even when the door to the chamber slammed open and he heard a voice call his name did he let go. His eyes were getting heavy and his arms shook with exhaustion but he didn’t let up.

Not until the man’s head had completely crumbled into nothing more than a heap of fine dust and a dark, shrieking shroud had risen and fled from the chamber did he roll off the man, noting with a faint silver of relief that it was Professor Snape who had come to help. 

“What time’d you call this, Pr’f’sor?” he slurred, slumping against a pillar, utterly drained. 

He never did hear the man’s response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! What did you guys think? 
> 
> Now, I know, what Hadrian saw in the mirror may be quite surprising but I think it sums him up quite well. He doesn't hunt for power or glory as Voldemort did simply because he believes that he already has all of that. In his mind, he's the best thing since sliced bread so there's no need to go out of his way to try and acquire more of what he already has in spades. His main priority is making sure his standard of living is befitting of his station, and family is always nice to have. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm interested to hear your thoughts on the chapter. There'll be one more, to sum up first-year and then we get onto the really juicy stuff. 
> 
> Drop a comment and a kudo to let me know what you guys think.


	16. Guardian of Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severitus. Need more be said?

_I am the guardian of power, not its owner  
-Vicente Fox _

Hadrian stared coldly at the person before him. Their eyes were wide and sweat had plastered their hair to their forehead. Hadrian could see how their chest expanded and contracted rapidly with their breath, quick and shallow, scared--no, more, _terrified_. 

He didn’t blink as he took a step closer to them and raised his wand so that the tip hovered over their heart. Maybe he smiled when he heard them whimper, or maybe he frowned, he wasn’t too sure. His face felt numb, he couldn’t really feel his fingers and the room was so cold his breath hung in the air. He didn’t know who this boy was, didn’t really care. His fear tasted good, a sweet and musky perfume that hung in the air and tempted him closer. 

It aroused in him a hunger that was deep and clawing and sharp. It started somewhere in his stomach and crawled its way up to his chest, his throat, to sit heavily on his tongue. He was pretty sure that his eyes weren’t all the way open with how heavy the felt, and he was sure this time that smile curled at his lips. 

_“Oh how alike we are, young Potter._ ” 

The voice was bodiless and floated in the endless darkness around him, them, the space that seemed everywhere and nowhere at once. Did that make sense? Could he understand? Was it too late? 

_“Magic is Might, Hadrian.”_

He was right. Magic _was_ might. Magic was beautiful and wondrous and... _magical_. It could mend what it easily broke, cure what it easily cursed. Magic was a gift given only to those worthy. Those muggles- with their sneers and hate and cruel, harsh words were nothing. 

_“We can rule together...we are above them all.”_

He _was_. He was so much better than them all. He didn’t _need_ them. Other people were weak; made _him_ weak. He indulged them, allowed them near him for the sole satisfaction of being doted on. He used them, manipulated and orchestrated so that they danced to whatever tune he hummed. He didn’t like them. He didn’t need them. They were _nothing_. 

The boy was shuddering now, and tears were glistening on his cheeks. Something about the sound of his sobs tugged at him, at something _within_ him, but it was quickly soothed by the sound of that hypnotic, melodious voice.

_“Kill him! Kill him!”_

Hadrian raised his wand so that it was pressed into the skin of the boy’s throat. He was smiling, about to mouth the words he’d heard ringing in his head for years with no idea of what they meant. Two simple words. So short, so easy. So much destruction. Chaos encased in something as mundane as words. Hadrian was better than them- _he_ didn’t need words to bring death, didn’t need to execute the same tireless wand-movements. His intent was enough, his anger broiled hot enough at all times to be drawn on. 

He smiled and shifted his gaze to the boy’s eyes, the words ready to spring from his lips, but he froze. It wasn’t just a boy staring back at him through tear-filled eyes. It was Theo. his breaths were coming short, panicked, quick. His hands trembled at his sides and he seemed to be inching back into the inky darkness, the blackness that surrounded him. 

Hadrian blinked. Theo was babbling then, begging for forgiveness, for mercy, for Hadrian to spare him. He’d do anything, he begged, anything at all. 

He opened his mouth to reassure the other boy and tell him that he wouldn’t kill him, _couldn’t_ , but instead he laughed. It was cold sound, and it cracked like the rustling of plastic. 

His yew wand came up again, and Hadrian thought that the knobs and dips in the wood were in slightly different places but he didn’t have time to think on that because suddenly it wasn’t Theo in front of him but a woman with hair like blood and eyes like jewels which glimmered with tears. 

_“Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy...Not Harry!”_

But he wasn’t a merciful Lord. He didn’t stand aside because he was asked and he wouldn’t give his enemy a chance to become one. The words were as familiar to him as the wand in his hand, as the magic that welled inside. They were a caress on his tongue and he relished in the feel of the power rushing out of him. 

_“Avada Kedavra”_

Hadrian shot up in his bed, panting. His eyes were wide as he looked about him, hands trembling in the sheets which he clutched at as if his life depended on it. 

Something moved in the darkness, something that glinted gold, and for a brief, wild second Hadrian thought that someone had let the snitch loose, but then the torch closest to him flared with light and the figure of Albus Dumbledore was revealed. 

The Headmaster was smiling softly at him with something like sympathy. He hated it. 

“Professor,” he started, and his voice was raspy. He coughed and a cup of water was waved over to him, which he drank quietly while trying to will the burning in his cheeks away. “Professor,” he tried again, and he thankfully sounded like himself again. But then, he didn’t really know what to say after that. _I’m sorry for killing your staff but he was being possessed by a Dark Lord who’d failed to kill me and who everyone thought had died a decade ago?_

“It’s okay, Harry,” the old man said, and he was still smiling. He came over and rifled through some things on the bedside table, which Hadrian only knew to be sweets because of the colours. For some reason, everything was blurry and indistinct, hard to make out. “I understand it all.” 

“But the Stone,” he protested. “I know I had it in my pocket but I wasn’t really concentrating on it when-” he cut off as the image of a screaming Quirrell came to mind, the smell of burning flesh and crumbling skin. “Is it safe? And the others? _Theo?_ ”

Dumbledore just about beamed. “Yes, yes, my boy. In fact, it was destroyed.”

For a moment Hadrian couldn’t help but gape at him before he snapped his mouth shut. “ _Destroyed_? But...but what about Nicolas Flamel? And the _knowledge_! Did he ever figure out _how_ the Stone turned rock into stone? Or how it created an Elixir of Life? Maybe you could have studied it and found a way to-”

“Slow down, my boy,” Dumbledore chuckled. “You certainly did well, if you know about Nick. He was perfectly on board with it all. He and Perenelle had just enough to get their affairs into order and will undoubtedly greet Death like an old friend. I know it must seem unfathomable to one so young, but for us who have lived so long and seen much more, it will be like taking a very long nap.” 

Hadrian wasn’t quite sure what the man was going on about, but he simply nodded. 

“I’m not scared of death,” he blurted, and he blamed it on the shock of everything. He blinked, and then looked at the Headmaster. “I know _he_ is. It’s in his name. He offered to rule with him, immortal.”

“Say his name, Harry. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.” 

“I’m not scared!” he snapped, and the other torches in the room flared to life. “He doesn’t _scare_ me! I’m not like him!” A wind swept through the hospital wing, ruffling the sheets and toppling the copious boxes of sweets on his bedside table. He hated how easily he was getting riled, how he couldn’t quite see, how he was behaving like a _child_ in front of such a powerful wizard. 

Dumbledore didn’t look upset. Instead, there was a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. “It is our choices that make us who we are, not our circumstances. If you don’t want to be like Lord Voldemort, then don’t.”

Hadrian sat in silence for a while before he spoke again, “He said we were the same, that we were alike.” Hadrian raised hard eyes to the Headmaster. “I don’t want to be like him. He...he’s not _human_.” 

“Ah,” Dumbledore sighed, clasping his hands together in his lap. “Lord Voldemort has done many things to distance himself from humanity but no amount of magic can strip a person of their humanity. He has done many inhumane things but he is still as human as you or I.” 

Dumbledore leaned forward then, and the sparkle in his eyes was gone, replaced by the kind of seriousness that seemed strangely out of place on his normally-smiling face. “Harry, there was a special type of magic that was used the night Lord Voldemort was vanquished. Your mother sacrificed her life so that you could live. It is that love that she had for you which allowed the Killing Curse to be deflected. As long as you hold onto that love, you will never be like Voldemort.” 

The doors to the infirmary burst open then, and in strode Professor Snape, who paused briefly and let a scowl replace the concern on his face. “So sleeping beauty has awoken, has he?” he drawled, coming to a stop on the other side of Hadrian’s bed. The Headmaster just laughed, picking up a box of _Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans_. 

(Privately, Hadrian was glad for his Head of House’s timely appearance because the mention of his mother made his dream all-too-real and left his breaths strangely heavy in his lungs)

Snape waved his wand over Hadrian, weaving intricate patterns and murmuring in something that sounded more Grecian than Latin. He huffed, before flicking his wand a few more times and summoning several vials onto the bedside table, pushing a few Sugar Quills off. “Drink them,” he commanded tersely, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Hadrian scowled at the vials but knocked them back anyway, trying to conceal his shiver of disgust as they slid slowly down his throat. The Headmaster seemed to have become entranced with a large crow-like bird that was perched just outside the window before he picked up a bean and popped it into his mouth. “Alas, earwax!” he cried, chuckling, before turning to leave. He paused just at the door. “Of course, what occurred three nights ago is a secret, Harry my boy. So naturally, the whole school knows.” Then he gave them both a cheery wave and left. 

Hadrian blinked at where the sparkling man had just stood before turning to look at the blurry figure of his Professor. 

Severus didn’t speak for a while, choosing instead to silently observe the boy. He looked, for all intents and purposes, fine. The bruising around his neck and various cuts and scrapes had all been healed. He was squinting though, and Severus noted with a vague sense of humour that the boy likely couldn’t see. Poppy had been utterly confused when she’d found that the boy had little domes of plastics over his eyes and was tempted to take him to St Mungo’s if he hadn’t stepped in. He’d never come across muggle contacts himself, but he knew enough about them to recognize what they were. 

Still, the Mediwitch had refused to preserve them and they’d been _I_ _ncendio_ -ed rather quickly. Now, a pair of glasses sat folded on the stand beside his head. 

Now, though, with his hair messed up even more from sleep, blinking at him from behind round frames exactly like what James Potter used to wear, Severus swore that he’d taken a trip two decades into the past and was looking at his old nemesis again. 

“Professor,” Potter started, and Severus could tell from that one word that the boy would say something insolent. “What are you doing here?” 

“It’s a rather funny story, actually,” he started conversationally. “You see, I received the most curious message three nights ago when all the students of the castle were supposed to be locked away in their dormitories.” 

Hadrian just blinked at him, before smiling slightly. 

“Yes,” he said, and he sounded so pleasant. “I sent Draco for you. I thought you’d appreciate knowing, but I couldn’t risk you trying to stop me.” Then he canted his head to the side like he’d done in those early days after just meeting. “Did you not believe him? Is that why it took you so long to come?” 

Severus went cold at that. “No,” he replied hastily, frowning. “I believed him straight away. But I didn’t find out until it was nearly too late. The Headmaster had dragged me along to a Board meeting. That’s where we were when I received Draco’s message and Albus received Minerva’s.” 

Hadrian nodded. “Why were you there? I didn’t think you’d be involved in those kinds of things.” 

He scowled at that, flicking his English Oak wand into his hand and weaving some of the more complicated diagnostic charms onto the boy. He’d cast the most basic ones earlier in the presence of the Headmaster, but these were at the very least Grey, if not Dark-leaning. “No,” he said drily. “Buf if I spent all my time trying to understand the Headmaster then I’d go just as crazy as he is.” 

Hadrian laughed at that, but then said quietly, “I don’t think he’s nearly as crazy as everyone likes to think. It’s a good mask. Insulting and tedious but clever nonetheless.” 

Severus paused in his movements, eyeing the boy for a long moment. “That is a very dangerous line of thought, Hadrian,” he said lowly, because he could feel the old man’s magic getting closer and it wouldn’t do to have him overhear this. 

“Not sure if you noticed, Professor, but danger doesn’t scare me.” And then Hadrian was smiling that slightly-terrifying smile that showed too many teeth and made his eyes gleam with that slightly-insane tint. 

Severus cleared his throat and opted to tidy the bedside table in lieu of answering. Hadrian chuckled lightly (which was an entirely too-grown response, in Severus’ opinion). “Did they work?” he asked at last. 

Severus was confused for a moment and could only blink at the boy before understanding dawned. “Yes, Potter. They are all safe.” 

“Daphne and Blaise. What did he do to them?”

Severus’ lips flattened. “He stunned them, though this particular variable was rather more deadly. They are very lucky to have survived.” 

“And the rest of my...colleagues? Theo? I asked Dumbledore about him but he didn’t answer and the last time I saw him he was knocked out and wouldn’t bloody _wake up_ no matter what I-”

“Relax,” Severus soothed, though he shifted away from the rambling boy’s bed. The tendrils of dark magic that curled about the boy’s shoulders in his distress were a lot more controlled than they had been in the past few months, but Severus had only survived this long by being extra cautious; getting too close to an emotionally unstable Obscurial didn’t really make the cut. 

“Mr Nott is fine. He had a brief stay in the infirmary but it was nothing that a _Rennervate_ and some healing droughts couldn’t fix.” 

He was about to say more, possibly lay into the foolish child before him for taking such stupid risks with not only his but others’ lives, but Madame Pomfrey bustled in and started fussing over him. Hadrian scowled the whole way through it and the harried woman threatened to cast a Body-Bind on him if he refused to sit still. After that, Hadrian glared mutinously at her as she prodded and poked and chased vials of potions down his throat. 

“I’m sure the brat will live,” Severus drawled finally after it became quite apparent that the boy wasn’t suffering from any maladies save for stupidity. “He will be coming to my office and then going straight to his dorm, so the chances of him suffering a fatal injury has been reduced only somewhat.” He ignored the sharp look that the boy threw at him and instead _A_ _ccio_ -ed a pile of robes and clothes. He thrust them into his chest before standing. “Get dressed.” 

Poppy huffed and puffed but even she had to concede that there was nothing wrong with him. Potter had switched from glaring to employing the best use of puppy-dog eyes which even Severus had to glance away from. The Mediwich retired to her office amongst mumbles of insolent patients with death wishes. 

Once Potter was dressed, Severus swept out, thankful to be out of the uniformed white room. Hogwarts had always been the only home he’d ever really had, but some parts held memories too tender for comfort, and the infirmary was undoubtedly one of those. He’d spent so much time there as a student, _too_ much time. 

Severus shook the thoughts away as they swept through the winding halls of the castle. It was mostly deserted, it being about 10 AM on a Tuesday. The few students that either didn’t have lessons or had decided to bunk fled at the sight of them, and Severus made a mental note to have a word with Flint and Farley about keeping a closer eye on the third-years. He wouldn’t have Minerva complaining to him about his Snakes. 

Soon enough they had descended into the bowels of the dungeon and the portrait to his office was swinging open. Severus could feel his shoulders relaxing slightly and a tea set in the corner got to work heating up water and dropping teabags into mugs. He floated it over, clearing a space on his immaculately ordered desk so that they could enjoy a spot of tea with a few biscuits. 

Hadrian was stood on the other side of the desk, watching him with suspiciously narrowed eyes behind those round frames. “Well?” he snarled, though it was noticeably lacking the bite it usually had. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me or sit down and eat? Your manners are rather appalling.” 

Hadrian sneered back but nonetheless sat, huffing as he stirred some sugar into his tea. Severus didn’t _actually_ think that his manners were that bad, but they certainly could do with some refining. His shoulders tended to hunch as he ate and he ate slightly too fast than was appropriate, as if he was afraid that the food would disappear any second. 

Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be too concerning, but the boy was rolling about with the heirs and scions of the most influential families in Wizarding Britain and was himself the heir to three of the oldest families; nothing short of perfection would be expected of him. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Hadrian asked, setting his cup on the floating saucer. He sat back in his seat but his shoulders were tense and there was a hardness to his eyes that Severus hadn’t seen for a long time. 

“You have to understand that what you did was foolish beyond belief. Did you even think about how dangerous the whole thing was?”

“Yes,” Hadrian responded. “That’s why I got Milicent to go for Dumbledore and Draco to go for you. And the pins worked, didn’t they?” Severus frowned, because the boy was right. And if he hadn’t gone for the Stone then Voldemort would have returned to full power three nights ago and Severus wouldn’t be here now. 

Still, there was a lot about the boy that Severus still didn’t know, about his years at the orphanage and how he felt regarding his time with the Dursleys. How did he get so close to Perks? What gave him such control over his magic? Was he even aware of the Obscurus residing within him? 

“Hadrian, listen to me,” he started lowly, and he sat forward so that at the very least the boy could see how desperate he was to help. “You are a very powerful boy. Let’s not pretend that you don’t know that you could have the world at your feet if you so wished it. Your name alone could open half the doors in Britain and your magical strength could open the rest. But- and you must listen to this- it is important that you understand that you are still only a _child_.”

Hadrian scowled and opened his mouth to respond, but Severus held up a hand. “Wait, let me finish.” The boy glared at him but he ignored it. “I don’t say this to sound condescending or dismissive, but because it is the truth. You’ve lived hardly more than a decade and been exposed to a cruel, selfish world for nearly as long and I understand the need to take care of it yourself. 

“But as long as I am here as a teacher at this school, as long as I am _alive_ , I will always do my best to help you. I have sworn it before and I will swear it again, in front of you and Lady Magic, on your chosen symbol and my magic, so mote it be.” 

There was a wave of magic that swept through the room, ruffling both of their dark hair and stirring the papers on Severus’ desk. A brief band of gold appeared, wrapped around Severus and Hadrian both before it disappeared. 

Hadrian was left blinking at him, eyes wide. “Why…” his voice cracked and his breaths seemed to come slightly faster. “Why would you do that?” 

He was staring at Severus with wide green eyes that seemed to glow brighter than he’d ever seen them before, brimming with confusion and something like fear. His shoulders were hunched even though his back was straight; his body seemed as tightly strung as a bow. It was his voice, small and trembling and so utterly unlike the Hadrian that the world had come to know, that made Severus’ heart ache with deep, powerful sorrow. In another life, if he hadn’t been so foolish in his fifth-year, if he hadn’t let the poisonous seeds sewed by Lucius take root and flower, if his world hadn’t been so cruel and at the brink of collapse, then this child with the mind of a man and the power of ten could have been his. 

“Because I care, Hadrian.” 

Hadrian hadn’t said anything in response, just sat staring at him with the same confusion and slight fear before fleeing from his office. 

Severus knew better than to go after him. Better for the boy to come to terms with it all himself. So Severus didn’t broach the issue again. In fact, in the weeks after, he hardly spoke more than a handful of words to Hadrian. The boy was skittish around him, never met his eyes and always spoke more to the air around him when called on in class. Sometimes, in the Great Hall at meals, he could feel eyes on him, unwavering in their gaze and intensity. Severus always made a point of looking at the boy only once per meal and inclining his head slightly before going back to whatever the replacement DADA teacher was rambling on about. 

Of course, in the days and weeks after his Snakes’ little excursion to the third floor, the school had been abuzz with wild rumours and juicy gossip and not even the teachers had been spared in the frenzy. Severus had made a point in ignoring Minerva as much as he could and- in lieu of actually doing anything since Dumbledore had been keeping an even closer eye on him- taken a ridiculous amount of points from Gryffindor. Even if Granger managed to get back half of them, he’d crippled the House of Lions too bady for them to recover. 

It had taken every ounce of strength in him not to curse her blind in those first few days. Hadrian had still been unconscious in the infirmary, his Snakes were all still shaken (and had milked their _trauma_ to the best of their Slytherin abilities) and Dumbledore had just thrown the ashes of Quirrell into the North Sea. The Head of Gryffindor had pleaded that she did the best that she could, that it wasn’t the first time that she’d had students try to sneak onto the third floor. Severus had only curled his lip in deep derision before leaving. 

The children had left for the Easter Holidays and the castle was once more at peace. Only a handful stayed back, even less than had stayed for Yule, and of course Hadrian and his shadow Perks had as well. 

It should have been easier to avoid the boy, what with most of the students gone and no compulsory lessons. They didn’t even have to show up for meals if they didn’t want to. Yet somehow Severus ran into Potter more than he’d done before. 

The boy always stopped and looked at him for a moment with narrowed, inscrutable eyes before scowling and storming off in a huff. At first, Severus had felt vaguely uneasy at the clear assessment, but it had turned into a rather amusing tradition. He could never predict where the boy would turn up, be it right outside of his class or in the middle of a deserted corridor or even once on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it at all, but Severus could always count on the boy finding him at least three times a day. 

Potter broke his silence after the first week of tailing him. He’d been on his way into the Forest to collect some Leaping Toadstools when he’d noticed Potter’s awkward frame hovering by. Severus didn’t know how the boy managed to track him and rathered avoid a headache than try to figure it out. 

“Severus,” the boy said in a perfectly plain tone. Severus felt his eyebrow twitch, but smiled. 

“Don’t get insolent now, Potter,” he warned, but there was no bite to it. Hadrian narrowed his eyes and huffed, tipping his head back. 

“Is that where you draw the line, then? At calling you by your first name?” 

Severus was too baffled to respond so he opted to remain silent. 

“I still don’t understand you,” the boy continued, folding his arms over his chest. “You are logical and methodical. You do things in steps. You even eat that way, too. In order. You like order, structure. It’s quite ridiculous the lengths you go to in order to finish your veg before your meat.” 

Severus staunchly fought the blush that tried to work its way up his cheeks. Lily had always teased him about that as well, but it was the only way he’d force himself to eat what he _needed,_ not just what he wanted. Of course her son would pick up on it as well, what with the way he’d been watching Severus lately. 

“Was there supposed to be a point in any of that? I am quite aware of my own eating habits, thank you.”

Hadrian sniffed, lifting his nose in the air like Draco still did (despite how often Severus had scolded him and the number of times the boy had tripped over things when he was younger). “My point is that you are a methodical man of facts and science but you seemed completely devoid of your senses when you said...what you said.” 

Severus watched the boy for a while, the way his eyes turned almost accusing. His arms were still crossed defensively over his chest but Severus could see his hands balled into fists. “There are many things that I have said to you, child, and even more that I haven’t. Be specific.” 

Potter scowled. “You know exactly what I mean,” he hissed from between clenched teeth. “Don’t make me say it.” 

Severus hummed before turning and striding into the Forest. He waited for a beat and when there wasn’t the snapping of twigs behind him, he turned and raised a brow. “Are you not coming?” 

Potter huffed again but followed, and the two of them walked in silence for some time until they came to the meadow where the Leaping Toadstools were. Severus wordlessly got to work, harvesting the jumpy little things and putting them into the large knapsack he’d brought with him. He preferred not to use magically enlarged bags for his potions ingredients because it left a residue of magic which made the particularly volatile potions more finicky to brew. After a while, Hadrian followed suit and started slicing through the stems with a muttered Cutting Curse. 

“Stop,” Severus said when Potter had thrown his fifth Toadstool into the bag. The boy paused, looking at him with furrowed brows. “You have to wait for the right time.” 

“They’ll have jumped away if I gave them any time,” he protested. 

Severus smirked. “It’s all about precision. Surely such a refined seeker such as yourself could be able to tell when a Toadstool is about to leap?” Potter scowled at him but took the advice, though he tended to rip the poor things out of the ground more often than not. Another ten minutes passed and Severus spent it telling the boy all about the properties of the little things, their uses and how best to get them.

“I actually prefer using a knife, you see, as it minimizes the magical residue. That’s why I’ve got this old thing.” He shook the half-full knapsack. “And why I don’t tend to use the ones Pomo- Professor Sprout gets. You wouldn’t think it from looking at her but she’s quite the capable witch. She doesn’t have enough control to keep her magic reigned in enough not to contaminate the whole batch. They tend to jump into her arms and I’m left with squealing little-”

“I don’t _care_ about these bloody mushrooms! You can smoke them all and it wouldn’t make a damn difference! Tell me what you _meant!_ ” 

Potter’s outburst was...as expected as it was not. Severus had been rambling on purpose in a great imitation of the school’s newest DADA professor and he knew it wouldn’t take long for the boy to blow. Still, the force of it shook his lungs and stole his breath. The field around them burst into flames which only a mildly overpowered _Aqua Eructo_ could put out. 

“For one, Potter, they’re _Toadstools_ , not mushrooms. Being emotional does not excuse unintelligence. And secondly…” he turned to the boy, setting the bag down at his feet. He looked into those glowing green eyes. It had been hard at first, but now he could look beyond the uncanny resemblance to his father and see that while the boy had Lily’s wide round eyes, their colour was brighter and darker and no matter how long he mourned her, how dark his days now seemed, Hadrian was his own person. There had been an intrinsic light to Lily that perhaps only death could extinguish, but the same could not be said for her son. 

“I meant exactly what I said. Was the oath not clear enough? Would you like a third?” 

“Third?” the boy repeated, slightly dazed before he shook his head. “I’m afraid you can’t count, Professor.” 

Severus barked out a laugh at that, settling down into the grass. It was something he hadn’t done in _years_ , simply feel the earth beneath him and watched the trees sway in a cool, spring breeze. Not since fifth-year, at least. 

“I assure you that I have not taken leave of my senses or intelligence as you children are wont to do. I said exactly what I meant, both times.” The boy didn’t say anything for a long time. And then, “when?” 

“I was...good friends with your mother. When she died I swore an oath to always ensure your life.” 

Potter’s face did something weird then, and he shifted away from Severus so that the space between them felt like a gulf river. “I see.” He stared at Severus with some cross between suspicion and indifference (he didn’t try to decipher _how_ exactly he managed to convey both emotions so clearly).

Severus nodded curtly. It wasn’t much, this accord they’d come to, but it was progress, however small it was. He shook his head and gathered the bag closer to him, shaking it to stop the twitching of the Toadstools. “Perhaps you think me a fool,” he said softly, watching the green-eyes boy. 

Hadrian hummed and suddenly his hand was flashing out and his other was slashing aggressively at the stem of a Toadstool about to leap. “Yes,” he said just as softly. His head was turned away so Severus couldn’t make out what his expression was. “Yes, you must be.”

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

“Here.” Draco slid the thick tome onto the table, pushing aside the pieces of parchment that Hadrian was working on. The boy blinked before looking up at him, quirking a brow. Draco fought to control the instinctive blush that stole up his cheeks. “Mother sent it for you.” 

“Your mother?” he asked, voice tinged only slightly with curiosity. 

Draco had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “Yes. We’re family, after all, no matter how distant. She said something about wanting what’s best for you.” He gave up on any airs and graces as he shrugged and plopped into the seat closest to Hadrian, ignoring the piercing look that Nott threw him from the Head Table where he was talking to Flitwick.

It was exam season and they were meant to be studying during their free period. Every other teacher had been shackled to their offices for the past few weeks but it was common knowledge that as well as being a Champion Dueller, Flitwick had an abnormal turnabout rate for grading and handing back essays. He was as ruthless as McGonagall but as cheery as Sprout which was wholly misleading. 

Hadrian frowned down at the book, the hint of sneer curling at his lip as he examined the cover. _‘Etiquette for the Young Heir; Everything to know to make it in High Society’_ read the title and the other boy didn’t even hide his disdain for it. 

“An etiquette book? How...charming,” he drawled in a scarily accurate imitation of their Head of House. Draco laughed nervously, glancing away. 

“Well, there may have been a few rumours about your duel with Runcorn. Mother heard about what she’d been saying about you being- you know- raised by _Muggles_.” He lowered his voice to whisper at the taboo word, glancing about to make sure nobody else had heard. Then he looked to Hadrian and noticed the dark look hovering over his features. “Anyway she thought that this might help. You’re First Prince, after all, and someday you’ll be King.” 

Hadrian barked a laugh at that, head thrown back and all. Draco would have admired how graceful he’d made the move look if he weren’t the one being laughed _at_. Instead, he settled for a scowl. 

When he was done he looked at Draco again and his eyes were sparkling. “I’m sorry, Draco, but you have to realise how funny that sounds. One day I’ll be _King_?” he snorted. “And why’s that? Who would I rule?” 

Draco stared at him, open-mouthed before he remembered that they were in the Great Hall. “Everybody! You’re the smartest and strongest- of _course_ you’ll be king!” 

“No,” he said softly, and he was looking at Draco with a soft smile and eyes that seemed to dance. “Everyone already knows how great I am, what would being king prove?” He shook his head softly but Draco’s confusion was swiftly replaced by something else that he really couldn’t name when Hadrian placed a gentle hand on his and a rush of dark, delicious energy pulsed through him. “Better to give someone else the responsibility with the knowledge that I could take it at any time. Maybe it’ll be you.” 

He’d said it so casually, nonplussed, as if it was no more significant than the colour of the sky. Hadrian flicked through the pages of the book, wrinkling his nose at some of the pages and rolling his eyes at others. Nott finished his conversation with Flitwick and started to come over just as Hadrian was slipping the book into his bag and returning to his work. 

Draco threw a smug smirk at the brunet, leaning closer to Hadrian. Nott scowled at him before snorting and turning to his own work. He didn’t look nearly as affected as Draco had hoped he would, but he still counted it as a win. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Exams passed with minimal fuss from Hadrian. They were laughably easy and though Tracey often scolded him for neglecting his school books, she never pressed the matter. He didn’t _need_ to study and they all knew it. 

The rest of them, however, had descended into little more than walking zombies with how much they crammed. Blaise had spent the year sneaking about trying to find the latest gossip and Draco had, for some unfathomable reason, taken it upon himself to try and tutor Crabbe and Goyle who’d done little more than grunt their way through first-year. Theo, as per usual, had his head stuck in various books and now more than ever he and Tracey descended into the most random debates. 

Only Daphne and Milicent seemed relatively unfazed, having studied throughout the year and with no extra-curricular activities to take up their time, but they’d started hanging out with a few second-year girls who twittered and giggled all over the place. Hadrian found he had no time or patience for such a thing, and after enduring one of their mindless conversations on the trendiest cut of robes he quickly resolved never to subject himself to that again. 

And so it was that he found himself ending up in Snape’s office more and more often. At first it was simply because he wanted to test the man’s boundaries. The oath he’d sworn was serious and heavy and something he didn’t really want to think all too closely about just yet. Snape was such a wonderfully complex person that Hadrian just _knew_ it would give him a headache to try and figure out now. 

They’d been brewing potions for the infirmary after Snape realised that Hadrian would come in whenever he felt like it, and it was peaceful in the rhythm of the motions and ease of brewing. Snape hardly had to speak for Hadrian to know which ingredient to hand him or which way to stir the potion, and while it was enjoyable for a bit, Hadrian quickly lost interest in it. He was a competent brewer but unlike Tracey and Draco who seemed to love exploring every facet of the craft, he was content with becoming proficient enough to never need to pay for a potion. 

Snape had sneered at him when he’d chucked down the stirring rod and thrown himself into the chair behind the teacher’s desk. He’d just smirked in a way he knew Snape loathed and even kicked his feet up on the desk but all the surly professor had done was huff and flick his finger, sending his feet careening to the floor. 

Some time into the third week of his visits, Snape had started to give him mini-lectures in Wizarding Etiquette. Hadrian had pulled out the book Draco’s mother had sent for him and Snape had seen before snorting and pointing out that it would be best he memorised the whole lot if he hoped to survive. 

“Being in Slytherin alone is a lot to navigate, but you are also the heir to _three_ prominent Houses. A lot of are unwritten rules but that book’s a good place as any to start.” Then he’d launched into the intricacies of greetings. 

It was weirdly domestic, this strange ritual they’d come by. There were still moments when Snape’s gaze would be too intense, when he’d say something too familiar or too playfully mocking. Hadrian had never come across an adult like this before, who was serious and severe and playfully teasing all at the same time. Perhaps it was a wizarding thing? After all, Flitwick seemed much the same, though there was a gulf difference in the severity department. 

“I will never again set foot outside of this office!” he wailed dramatically, throwing himself into the wheely chair. He threw his arm over his eyes, sniffing as Snape snorted and puttered about preparing his potion. 

“I never took you for a thespian, Potter,” the man sneered, waving his wand and conjuring a green flame beneath the steel cauldron. 

“I’ll have you know that I would excel in _any_ field, thank you.”

“Barring potions of course. Your disdain will leave you mediocre at best.” The man glared pointedly at the potions magazine he’d accidentally pushed to the floor. He fake gasped loudly, clutching at his chest. 

“Slander! I’ll usurp you as the youngest Potions Master in history. Just you wait, Severus Snape, you’ll rue the day you-” 

The door to the man’s office opened rather suddenly, startling them both. Hadrian jumped to his feet, levelling his wand at the door while the dark-haired man did the same, moving so that he stood between Hadrian and the door. 

The man in the doorway smiled broadly, holding up his hands as his blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles. “Peace, boys! I mean you no harm.” 

Hadrian’s jaw tensed but he lowered his hand with a murmured, “Headmaster.” 

Snape scowled outright at the older man, lowering his wand reluctantly. “Albus. I would thank you _not_ to dismantle my wards. Respectable people knock.” 

The Headmaster waved his hand in the air, chuckling. “It is good to see the two of you getting on so well! Harry, my boy, how have you been? I hear you’ve gotten quite impressive grades in your end-of-years?” 

Hadrian looked between the Headmaster and his Head of House before sliding a small smile onto his face. “Yes, Professor. At least, I hope so. I studied hard for them.” 

Snape made a small snort at that, which Hadrian resolutely ignored. 

“Good, good! Please, reclaim your seat, my boy, we have much to discuss. Severus you too. The potion can wait.” 

Snape stiffened slightly. “This is quite a sensitive potion, Albus. It needs constant monitoring.” 

The Headmaster only smiled again. “The Bloodline Potion will be fine under a stasis. This will take no more than half-an-hour at most. Unless you would like to take tea here?”

Snape’s scowl deepened but he huffed in acquiescence. He snapped at Hadrian to vacate his seat which he did, taking one slightly closer to the scowling teacher than the smiling one.

“Now, Hadrian, I believe it would not be remiss of me to say that you would not consider returning to the care of your aunt Petunia?” 

Hadrian blinked up at the man for a moment, trying to process what he was hearing. Part of him wanted to lash out like he’d done at Yule in the man’s office. There was the same heaviness in his chest that only rarely made an appearance and a strange need he couldn’t quite figure out to fulfil. His skin felt too tight, like he was wrapped in too many layers and needed to just burst free. 

_(The elite are well-versed in the art of insulting with a smile. It doesn’t do to show how affected one is by another’s words or actions. If a retort is needed to be made then it should be done with sugary words and a pleasant demeanour. If no words can be given in rebuttal then a serene smile is always best)_

Hadrian smiled. 

“No, Headmaster.” 

The old man hummed, looking away momentarily to give Snape some kind of meaningful look. “Indeed. Now, until we can sort out more...suitable accommodations, it would be best that you return to the orphanage. This won’t be permanent, but it seems that the blood wards your mother left with you has protected you thus far and will continue to do so.” 

To his left, Snape sat sharply forward, frowning, but Hadrian barely paid him any mind. He was looking into the twinkling eyes of the Headmaster, and he was hit with a sudden wave of frustration and resignation. 

“I don’t fully understand, Headmaster,” he said, making sure that his voice was light and lacking any of the burning that bubbled in his chest. “Theo and a few other...acquaintances...have invited me to their homes this summer. Their wards are fully functional and ancient enough to withstand sieges. How can a muggle _orphanage_ ,” and he very nearly spat the words, but managed to reign in his contempt barely, though some probably still leaked through, “be any safer?”

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his seat. He’d waved his hand and changed the slightly uncomfortable stools that they sat on in class for a plush armchair that was Gryffindor red and gold (three guesses as to the old man’s old House?)

“I’m afraid I don’t fully understand it myself, my boy. I believed that Lily’s sacrifice only worked with you living with a blood relative, but it appears that it wasn’t that particular branch of magic that she invoked. I will be conducting more research into what it could possibly be. 

“But until we know, it is best you stay where you are safest. Not even my tracking spell could find you, and had it not been for Severus being sent to welcome your friend Sally-Anne, we would never have discovered where you were.” 

“But my letter was addressed to me,” he said automatically and instantly berated himself for it. Dumbledore frowned. 

“How did you get your letter? I was preparing to visit you myself but it vanished from my desk.” 

Hadrian looked glanced at Snape before looking down into his lap, hunching his shoulders and twisting his fingers around each other. Then he looked back up at the Headmaster and forced his voice into the closest imitation of Sally-Anne that he could. “I...I wanted it. Sally-Anne had her letter and the book- the book Professor Snape gave us- said that getting your letter was important and I-- I wanted it. Without it I couldn’t get to Hogwarts and I’d have to stay in the orphanage and go to that horrible school with metal detectors and-” 

“Potter,” Snape interrupted, and Hadrian blinked before looking up at the man. His eyes were sharp and calculating, but they were more on the air around him than him. Dumbledore seemed to be leaning even further back in his seat than before, like he was leaning away from _him_. 

“I’m sorry,” he rushed, wringing his wrists and ducking his head. 

“No, no, it is quite alright, my boy. There is nothing to worry about. I should have known that you would be capable of quite wondrous forms of accidental magic. Why, Madam Ida said something about you apparating!” 

Hadrian didn’t have to fake a flinch at that particular memory. 

“Well, I’m glad that it’s all sorted then. I’m sure Severus will be more than happy to accompany you and Sally-Anne to get your second-year materials?” Snape grunted much the same way Crabbe and Goyle did. “Excellent! Now, I believe dinner will start soon. Or would you rather we sup here?” 

Snape muttered something about hexing the man out of the room, to which the Headmaster just laughed and waved cheerily before slipping out. The room was silent as Hadrian processed what exactly had just happened. Then he nodded to himself and scooped his bag off the floor and onto his shoulder, dusting his robes of imaginary dust. 

“Hadrian,” Snape called as he went to leave the room. Hadrian paused and turned back to the man with a perfectly blank expression. The man frowned. “I know that you won’t stay there. When you decide to leave, let me know and I will ensure you get there safely.” 

Hadrian didn’t say anything for a while, choosing to study the man. Here he went again throwing another curveball. Hadrian had thought that Snape was loyal to the Headmaster, if only because the great wizard was the only thing standing in the way of his Azkaban sentence. Yet here he was offering to go directly against the old man’s orders and take him away from the orphanage.

What was this game? 

“Alright,” he said, and left the room. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

The remaining week of lessons passed in a blur of relaxation and cheer. The seventh-years threw a huge party after their official graduation ceremony which had a healthy mix of all Houses. Initially, the fifth-years had turned them back to their dorms while it raged because apparently it was known to get pretty wild, but Blaise had traded some particularly juicy stories with Dominique Vexmoor which gained them a two-hour entry. 

Hadrian could have gone without it. 

He didn’t want to know how they had managed to smuggle alcohol into the castle, let alone _crates_ of it. Games were being played like ‘truth or dare’ or ‘never have I ever’ which made Hadrian realise that while they may all be witches and wizards, teenagers would forever be the same. He and his circle had enjoyed laughing at the stumbling upper years, at least until a Ravenclaw seventh-year was dared to confess his undying love for Draco. _That_ had left Hadrian in stitches for ages and a fuming Draco had stormed up their dorm, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. 

Vexmoor had scolded the lot of them for still being down and exiled them not long after, and all it had taken to get Draco to talk to him again was a promise to visit during the holidays. The blond had sniffed and pointed his nose further in the air but crawled out from behind his drawn curtains nonetheless. 

As the second-to-last night in Hogwarts, they didn’t go to sleep until the sun had crested the hills and painted the room with a soft, early-morning glow.

“Oh Harry, we’ll be leaving soon!” wailed Sally-Anne when he saw her the next morning in the Great Hall. She flung her arms around his neck. Somehow, when she did it, it didn’t seem as dramatic as when Draco flounced about huffing and whining. 

“I know, Sally-Anne,” he murmured in her ear, petting her golden tresses. They seemed to have gained a glitter to them since they’d come to live in the castle, and he wondered if living in the muggle world dampened their magic. Would it still sparkle in the murky, grey light of the orphanage the same way it did in this fantastical world? “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all planned out.” 

She pulled back to beam up at him, and her hand came up to rest on his cheek. “You always do,” she said softly, and he couldn’t help but feel a warm glow in his chest at her words. 

(Seriously, who sent her to him? Did they know what they were doing? He would profess to love them for it if he knew what love felt like. Or-- was it this?)

That last day on the grounds he spent with her and Theo. The others were all preoccupied with making summer plans, but Theo had already told him that his father hardly left the manor and- until recently- he hadn’t enjoyed anyone’s presence enough to visit their homes. For some strange reason, he held out hope that Theo would extend an invitation to his manor, but it never came, and he told himself that he wasn’t disappointed at that. 

Sally-Anne regaled them with tales about their night-time excursions to the kitchens how Smith and his outcast group were caught with their own brooms which Professor Sprout confiscated. Hadrian didn’t know that Hufflepuffs could get up to so much mischief. 

Around noon some of her friends joined them by the Black Lake. There was Abbott and Bones and even Lily Moon from Gryffindor. She was a nice girl, as they all were, with a bright smile and hair that hovered somewhere between red and blonde. Hadrian could spot Theo’s disdain instantly, but he reckoned the boy hid it well, at least in comparison to the start of the year. They spotted Granger walking by on her lonesome and before Hadrian could even make a joke, Theo had sent him a searing glare. 

Finally, the end-of-year feast came, and it came as no surprise that Slytherin won. Dumbledore had read out his annual ‘Honours List’ which many of his circle made it onto, even Milicent, whose eyes widened to comical proportions. 

“And finally,” the old man said, holding his hands out for silence as the errant clappers stopped cheering. “I would like to give three people a Special Award for Services to the School. Theodore Nott, Tracey Davis and Harry Potter.” 

Hadrian blinked in surprise, and it was only his shock which delayed the irritation he always felt at the Headmaster using the wrong name. He glanced at the Head Table, and Snape simply inclined his head at him and nodded to the Headmaster. Slowly, the three of them made their way up to the front where they shook hands with the old man and smiled for a picture taken by Professor Flitwick standing on a stack of conjured books. 

Their House seemed to have forgone composure in lieu of hollering loud enough to drown out even the Gryffindors, and the night ended with wide smiles and wistful sighs. 

That night, he lay in bed staring up at the green canopy which he wouldn’t be seeing for three months. He’d never really had a home before, but he supposed that if anywhere in the world would qualify, at the very least it would be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for first-year! I know it wasn't much and I probably made you all wait for nothing but I've had a really busy week recently and...yeah. Long story short, I'm exhausted. 
> 
> Anyway, I've kinda started introducing the 'theme' for Hadrian's second-year. This is when things start to get really interesting and some more players enter the game. 
> 
> Snape was probably a bit more OOC than he's been so far but...meh. 
> 
> Drop a kudo and a comment; let me know what you think!


	17. Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, seriously it helped a lot in the writing process (even though it took so long to write. More on that at the bottom.) 
> 
> Slight torture in the first part of this chapter. You can skip it if you'd like- it's during _Sally-Anne's_ part. See you guys at the bottom!

Ida Muller huffed impatiently from where she stood outside the train station. There was a cab idling behind with its meter ticking. For the thousandth time that morning, she cursed the children and just as she had resolved herself to return without them, she spotted the familiar head of messy black hair. 

Harry Potter had grown over the nine months since she’d last seen him, and he walked now in a way that reminded her of all the posh people who went about their business in central London with their suits and ties and proper, long coats. Beside him walked Sally-Anne, ever a shadow, but there appeared to be a glow about the girl even with the mulish frown on her face. 

“Hurry up!” she snapped, because for a moment it seemed as if the two of them would walk right past her without acknowledging her presence. Sally-Anne jumped slightly, but she didn’t squeak like she used to. Potter, for his part, didn’t break his stride at all. He went around her to the boot of the car, settling his trunk in before doing the same with Sally-Anne’s. Ida noticed the glinting bird-cage but didn’t have much time to say anything about it before the boy was closing the trunk and ushering Sally-Anne into the car. 

She huffed, storming around to slide into the passenger seat and grit out the Lewisham address of the orphanage. The cabbie didn’t say anything but she knew that he was judging her for it. She sniffed, looking pointedly out the window. 

It wasn’t like she wanted to be working with a bunch of orphaned brats. Her family had moved from Germany with the ideals of a grander life. Her dream had been to play as part of the first violin section in an orchestra. She’d wake early in the morning and make breakfast for her little brother and sick mother, work for a while in the local supermarket and spend the rest of the day playing until her fingers were sore. She was good, _really_ good. 

But then her mother died and her brother got sick and it was all that Ida could do to provide a meal each night. She sold her violin to pay the rent and it was no more than two months later that her brother followed in the ways of their mother. 

Harry reminded her of him, in the beginning. Max had been small and frail in those last few weeks, just like the green-eyed boy she’d found shivering on the steps of the orphanage on an uncharacteristically blustery day in July. 

For a moment, she’d thought that Max’s ghost had come back to haunt her. The bruises under the eyes had been the same, and he’d been shivering as Max did in that big, white hospital bed. His hair had been a mess and his eyes glazed, like he’d been contemplating whether death wasn’t the better option. 

The car pulled up to the curb and the sight of the hulking, grey building tugged her out of her memories. She scowled, painstakingly counting out the exact fare before handing it over and snapping for the two brats to get out of the car. The girl jumped slightly but where the boy would have glared at her a year ago for causing such a reaction in his only friend, now he only ignored her, getting their trunks out of the boot and placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

They stood close together, and she wouldn’t be surprised if they started dating soon, if for no other reason than they couldn’t fathom being with anyone else. 

_(Ida stubbornly put aside the thought that they would make an attractive couple)_

“Well get in, then,” she snapped, sneering. Once again the boy didn’t spare her a glance, picking up both of their luggage (which should have been harder with how large they were) while the girl clutched the empty bird-cage to her chest. 

The house was ringing with shrieks and the pattering of feet. Children ran about laughing and screaming- some crying and others cackling like little madmen. It was a zoo, an asylum, and Ida could only wonder at what she'd done in her past-life to deserve such hell. 

“Go pack those away,” she said, more to the girl out of the two of them. She nodded hesitantly and turned to flee. Ida made an irritated noise. She needed a long, rum-induced nap and a neverending holiday from these unbearable terrors. 

“Don’t worry, Madam Ida,” she heard the boy call softly, and it was the first time she’d heard him speak in nine months. It was cracked with the tell-tale sign of puberty, but somehow managed to sound more refined than anyone she’d spoken to before. She looked at him in shock, but tried to hide it behind a scowl. The boy was smiling thinly at her, and there was something in it that made her think of _der Teufel_. 

“You won’t be seeing much of us.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

True to his word, Hadrian organised it so that he and Sally-Anne hardly saw Madam Ida or any of the other residents of the orphanage. They’d managed to store some food in their trunks under a stasis spell, so he hardly went down for meals, and saw no other reason for them to interact. 

Sally-Anne did at first. In her months at Hogwarts, she seemed to have forgotten how life at the orphanage worked, but after the third morning when none of the other children sat beside her, she returned to their room with teary eyes and slumped shoulders. 

Hadrian had spent the majority of his time reading. It turns out that the books from the Hogwarts library were charmed to return to their place if they were taken outside of its wards so half of his reading material had disappeared when they’d been on the Express. Theo had laughed at him when he noticed, but handed over some of his own anyway. 

He would always cherish a brilliant mind, and it was no surprise that the books were heavy, delving into great detail of the intricacies of magical theory- though it all did tend to revolve around Time Magic (which Hadrian was sure the boy was obsessed with).

The most surprising thing, however, was how helpful he found the book on etiquette. He’d never really been big on propriety, finding it dull and utterly tiresome, but he’d read through everything else and only Merlin himself could force him to re-read those Shakespeare plays Sally-Anne had been engrossed in. 

He’d read the book Draco's mother had sent with cautious hope that had blossomed into true curiosity. Who knew that speaking with a portrait of who they were in life could spark something of an existential crisis? Or that asking a wizard in Britain for the time was embarrassing because of a whole tradition with pocket watches? 

For the first time in a long time, Hadrian was starkly reminded that what he knew of the Wizarding World was only the tip of the iceberg. There would be things he couldn’t learn from books or readings, things that wizarding children were told in the safety of their homes with parents who summoned and cleaned with no more than the wave of a wand. 

The book let him see the wizarding world beyond Hogwarts and its classes, beyond good grades and perfect scores. It, like every other society, was full of _people_ and they were always filled with expectations. If he was to be anything, to _do_ anything, he’d have to learn the steps to their dances. And if that proved to be too much trouble, he’d just create his own. 

Days passed and Hadrian spent them immersed in the book. It was taking him longer than usual to finish it because of how foreign and intricate the details were. Some Lords he bowed to, some he only nodded to, some who bowed to _him_ and others he would have to completely ignore. There were set phrases for first meetings and certain colours he wore for certain occasions. Even within families, there was a noticeable hierarchy, and as the Heir, he’d need to know them all inside and out. 

But for all that Hadrian loved studying and enjoyed the book, he had a fighting spirit at heart. His shared room at the orphanage with its grey walls and puce-coloured carpet and thin mattress where the springs dug into his back made him want to _do_ something. There was that same sensation of being boxed in, his skin feeling too tight and pulled taught, like he wanted to explode and destroy anything, _everything_. 

Still, there wasn’t much that they could do but bide their time and wait. The days bled into one another, long, boring and monotonous. Draco had told them that his father saidthat the Trace was placed on their wands the moment they got to Hogwarts, but only the muggle-borns were ever really found out. When the Decree of Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery had first been implemented 1875, the purebloods and nobles had all rebelled against it. Teaching their scions how to cast had been a long-held tradition for many families and they weren’t about to let fear of Muggles get in the way of it. So, in solidarity with one another, all the parents had started using their children’s wands. The Trace was triggered and there had been hundreds of cases brought before the Wizengamot before the Ministry decided that if the Trace went off in a location where there was a known wizarding family then it would be ignored. 

Which didn’t do much to help him. The orphanage would, undoubtedly, be closely monitored, if not by the Ministry then at least by Dumbledore, and Hadrian couldn’t risk getting into trouble just yet. Which only served to make him _bored, bored, bored_. He and Sally-Anne had written to their friends in the first few weeks but the snowy owl had always returned without anything clutched in her talons so they’d given up. 

Something like disappointment had sunk into his gut, and he supposed Sally-Anne probably wasn’t the only one to have partially forgotten what life before Hogwarts had been like. It was foolish to expect the people he’d spent the past year living with, studying and laughing and- dare he say it- _enjoying his time_ with to write to him. He was Hadrian James Potter-Black; he didn’t _need_ anyone. 

“We’re going out,” Sally-Anne declared one morning. The sky was as grey at the walls with clouds that loomed ominously, but she seemed undeterred. Hadrian glanced at her from where he was levitating his quills and had them dancing in the air. “Come on, get dressed.” 

He huffed. “It’s going to rain, Sally-Anne. Maybe another day.” 

“No! I won’t have you lazing about _moping_ another moment! Now get up before I hex you!” 

“You can’t do that,” he laughed, rolling to his feet. “You can’t use your wand, remember?” 

Sally-Anne just placed her hands on her hips like he’d seen Professor Sprout do just before a long lecture about playing with shears. “And I suppose you’re the only one who can do wandless magic, then?” Hadrian didn’t even have time to respond because she waved her hand and a bolt of blue light hit him. 

He yelped, stumbling back as he rubbed at his sore arm. “Sally-Anne!” he shouted, more in delight than anything else. “You hexed me!” 

She sniffed, lifting her nose in the air before breaking down into giggles, and what could Hadrian do but join in? He hugged her, swinging her around the room as they laughed. Then, when it had died down to the occasional giggle, he stepped back to look at her. 

Her hair had lost the shine it had gained, but was still practically luminous. Her cheeks were still as round as a cherub and her eyes almost comically large. She blinked up at him, blushing, and he felt a swell of affection in his chest. 

“Come on then,” he said at last, releasing her. “We can get in a few hours before it rains.” 

Sally-Anne wanted to tell Madam Ida that they were going out but Hadrian stopped her, knowing that she would stop _them_. It was no secret that she hated him, and thought him to be some kind of devil. He never forgot the way she’d crossed herself and muttered _“du Dämon”_ after Lawrence had tumbled down the stairs and broken his legs. Such was the nature of the beast. 

It wasn’t hard to sneak out, and once they’d left it was easy to slip about unnoticed. Lewisham was always busy, and while it wasn’t the safest place for two children to be running about, they’d done it enough times to no longer be scared. 

They didn’t have a destination in mind as they hopped on and off various buses, but they didn’t need one. Soon enough they found themselves in a desert parlour and Hadrian had managed to... _talk_ a nearby couple into getting them each a sundae. Sally-Anne had looked appalled, but all traces of protest seemed thoroughly wiped from her mind the moment she started eating. 

_(He wondered whether it would be classed as the Imperious for pressing his will onto them or the more tame Confundus Charm)_

“Ugh,” she complained as they traipsed back. The sun was low in the sky, about to retire for the day and the clock tower not too far off chimed seven-thirty. “I am never eating ice cream _again_!” 

Hadrian could only laugh. “Okay, I’ll let Snape know that you don’t want to go to Fortescue’s next week.” 

Sally-Anne gasped, slapping him playfully on the arm. “You wouldn’t dare! Besides, Professor Snape wouldn’t take us to Fortescue’s if it was the last-standing building on earth.” 

He frowned over at her. “Well of course not. He’d be too busy rebuilding the world- ouch!” She’d slapped him again and the two of them fell over themselves laughing. 

It was cut abruptly short as they turned onto the street where the orphanage was. There was someone tending to the yard, a boy with hair like straw and a nose not unlike Parkinson’s. He looked up at the sound of their voices before a sly grin spread across his face. “Well, well, well,” he squeaked in that irritatingly high-pitched voice of his. “If it isn’t Psycho Potter and his little pipsqueak.” 

Sally-Anne bristled beside him, and it was telling of how far she’d come that she didn’t duck immediately into his shadow. Hadrian just smiled back. “That’s an impressive show of alliteration there, Travis,” he said amiably, strolling in past the gates. “Have you figured out how to spell it yet?” 

Travis Connelly’s face bloomed red and he stood up, dropping the gathered weed as he stomped closer to them. “Shut up!” he spat. “You think you’re better than me? Your parents left you here just like mine did!”

“Oh, no,” Hadrian said softly, and his smile matched his tone “my parents are dead. Your mother couldn’t stand the sound of your wails or the sight of you.”

Beside Hadrian, Sally-Anne stifled a quiet gasp, eyes wide as she watched the other boy’s face drained rapidly of blood before filling just as quickly. He spluttered a while before he managed to wrangle his tongue under control. “Oh yeah? Well...well…your parents hated you so much they _died_ to get away!” 

_Sally-Anne_

There was silence for a moment, and Travis seemed to realise the grave mistake he’d made- only it was too late, and the smile had dripped from Harry’s face and was replaced with his statue’s mask that he’d worn all the time before Hogwarts had breathed some life into him. Then he laughed, and it was clear and crackled and breathy in a way that had dread slipping down her spine. 

His eyes were glowing as he looked at Travis, but he didn’t move. Instead, for some reason, Travis was the one who stepped forward, whimpering like Fang had that one time Hagrid had scolded him for ripping her school robes. Sally-Anne couldn’t fathom what made the boy goad Harry like that; everyone knew that Bad Things happened when Harry was angry. The worst part was that it was never just _one_ person who bore the brunt of his anger- the whole house suffered (with the exception of her, of course). 

Travis was shaking as hard as a leaf in autumn before Harry, and there were tears in his eyes despite the fact that he’d not even done anything yet. “Funny, Travis dear. You seem to have forgotten how things worked. Was I away for too long? Do you need a reminder?” 

He watched with a bemused smile as Travis shook his head earnestly, eyes wide. Harry hummed. “Perhaps...yes, that’s it. You must think yourself some kind of clown...a jester, maybe?” Then Harry smiled, and it was bright and terrifying. “In that case, I find your pain highly amusing. _Make me laugh_.” 

She couldn’t keep in her startled scream at the words but neither boy paid her any amount of attention. She watched with wide eyes as Travis took a stumbling step back before swinging his fist. It collided with the side of his own face, whipping his head to the side and forcing a grunt out of him. Still, he went on, punching himself in the face, in the stomach, scratching at his arms. 

“Harry!” she shouted, grabbing at his arm. “This isn’t funny, tell him to stop!”

Harry hummed, his eyes never wavering from the sobbing boy in front of him. “You’re right, Sally-Anne,” he said softly, a smile quirking at his lips. “This isn’t funny, Travis dear. I’m afraid you’ll have to step it up.” 

The boy whimpered at that, but he stopped scratching himself anyway. Harry’s gaze flicked to his Travis’ feet and then, in the space between heartbeats and before she could suck in a breath to scream, Travis turned his foot so that his ankles faced down and _stomped_. 

Sally-Anne could barely hear his scream over her own and tears ran down her face unencumbered. Travis was howling and sobbing and there was snot running down his face and mixing with his tears but-- but Harry just stood there, unbothered. He had his head cocked to the side and his eyes glowed until they resembled two burning green fires (like what Susan had described the Floo to look like). 

He didn’t seem to hear her as she tugged at his arm and pleaded with him. She’d never seen him so angry before, never witnessed such _cruelty_ in him. “Please!” she sobbed again, pulling his arm. “Please make it stop, Harry!” 

Harry patted her hand, and it was so normal a gesture that some of the tension instantly leaked out of her. “I know, Sally-Anne, he’s not a very good clown, is he? Travis dear,” he called, and there was a smile on his face that was broad and sharp. “Sally-Anne doesn’t find this even remotely amusing. Rectify that.” 

She felt bile rise in her throat at Travis’ whimper/hiccup of pain, and had to stumble away from Harry when his gaze combed the garden and landed on the pair of shears that Travis had abandoned. She didn’t want to believe that Harry would make the boy use it, didn’t want to believe that the boy who had been nothing but soft and caring with her could do something so inhumane. But her eyes refused to close and her head couldn’t turn. Sally-Anne could only watch as Travis picked up the shears with quivering arms. 

“No, no, no,” he cried as he lifted his left hand, fingers splayed out. “Please, I’ll do anything, _please!_ ” 

It didn’t look like Harry heard anything of what he was saying, or that he could feel her slapping at his arm. He just watched on with a fascinated gleam in his eye as Travis put his middle fingers between the blades on the shears and started to close them, blood welling and rolling to splatter on the grass at their feet. 

There was a flurry of sudden motion, then. The front door to the orphanage slammed open and there was a shout before Madam Ida was there, yanking the shears from Travis’ grip and tossing them across the yard. She was babbling something to him, framing his face in her hands as he bawled and blubbered. 

Sally-Anne herself couldn’t stop from crying quietly, even as she watched a look of mild irritation flash across Harry’s face. He sniffed, rolling his eyes as he smoothed a calming hand through her hair. 

( _She hated herself for how much it slowed her breathing, for how thoroughly safe she felt with him. Did it make her a monster, too?_ ) 

“You!” Madam Ida screamed, turning on them with wild eyes. Wild wisps of hair that had escaped her bun stuck out everywhere. “ _Du bist einen Teufel!”_ She descended into a great tirade in German too rapid for anyone to decipher before pushing Sally-Anne harshly out of the way to shake Harry’s shoulders. Her face was contorted in disgust and her fingers were clawed as they dug into his flesh. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, and Sally-Anne had never thought that Harry would be much affected by it because he’d never seemed to be before. This time, though, his eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath. His arms twitched by his sides, snapping close to his body and, beneath Travis’ wails and the other children’s whispers and Madam Ida’s shouting, Sally-Anne thought she heard him gasp _“No!”_. 

He regained control of himself a split-second later, his eyes cooling and his face smoothing out. Sally-Anne could only watch in numbed shock as he was led inside and pushed into the cellar. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Severus frowned, glancing around at the yard before making his way up the steps. He didn’t bother to muster a sneer at the boy behind the counter, too focused on what could possibly be the source of such potent and dark magic. Undoubtedly the boy would be the culprit. The boy at the desk started stuttering before he gave up on speech altogether and simply pointed to the waiting room. 

The entire place was exactly the same as he remembered it being last year, from the flaccid pillows to the stained grey carpet. Just being there Severus felt tired and drained. It reminded him all-too-much of Spinners End. 

He waited ten minutes before the door opened, and in trailed Perks, and for a moment Severus had to wonder whether he was experiencing the phenomenon of deja vu. She was nothing like the bright, bubbly child he’d seen at Hogwarts for the past few months. Her hair hung like straw and looked as if she hadn’t brushed it in days, and her skin was blotchy, as if she’d been crying for a long time. Her eyes were red, which only confirmed it, and her lips trembled as if she were about to restart. 

The weirdest part was that Hadrian was nowhere to be seen. 

“Perks,” he said, standing. The girl turned large, watery eyes on him before looking sharply away, sniffing as she scuffed her shoe on the carpet. 

“I-” she started, sniffed, and then tried again. “Madam Ida said that we’re not to be going anywhere.” 

“Nonsense,” he drawled, frowning. Last year the woman had been nothing but eager to pawn the children off to him. What could have changed? “Where are your things? Hadrian informed me that you would be staying with a friend for the remainder of the summer.” 

The girl just shook her head again, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. “I...I _can’t_ because she won’t let him go and I won’t just leave him there!” Then she started crying in earnest, her shoulders shaking and all. 

Severus stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he conjured a handkerchief and handed it over, his hand hovering uselessly over her back before he sighed and started patting it like he’d seen Narcissa do for Draco when he was a child. 

“There, there,” he said, and it was awkward as hell but the child didn’t seem to notice, because she turned and flung her arms around his waist and sobbed into his robes. He was glad that she couldn’t see the grimace or the uncertainty on his face. 

They stood like that for a while as she soiled his robes and he tried to think of a way to find out _what_ she meant without setting her off again. 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” she sniffled a while later, standing back and wiping at her face with the handkerchief. Severus cleared his throat. 

“Well, now that you have ruined my robes you may as well let me know where your other half is. I doubt he leaves you alone in this place for long.” 

He thought the words to be some of his more mild ones, but she apparently disagreed because her lip wobbled again. 

“Oh Professor!” she wailed, burying her face in her hands. “I know what he did was wrong but- he hates it down there Professor and he can’t get out and- Travis has been throwing eggs into the room but Madam Ida won’t _let him out_ -”

“Perks!” he shouted, and the girl squeaked and jumped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I cannot help you if I don’t understand what’s happening. Where is Hadrian?” 

“The boy isn’t going.” 

Severus looked up to see the patron, Madam Ida, standing in the doorway with her arms folded and her chin raised. Her eyes were hard and her lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said the boy isn’t coming. He is a demon, a devil. He is where he belongs, where he will _stay_ until he learns repentance.” Her accent was much thicker than he remembered it being, and her body fraught with tension. A ball of dread settled in his stomach. 

“Where is he?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper. There was something screaming at him, something that made bile rise in his throat and anger sizzle in his veins. She didn’t answer so he strode across the room, ignoring the way she scrambled for the door. A simple flick of his wrist ensured that it was locked and soundproofed. 

She rattled frantically at the doorknob but it was no use. Finally, she turned back to him, and he had her crowded against the door. He couldn’t keep the fury out of his voice or his eyes, nor did he want to. 

“ _Where is he_?” 

The woman was too scared to speak, struck dumb by the force of her fear. He snarled, raising his wand and hissing _“Legilimens._ ” 

He rifled through her memories, hazy and unfocused, covered in a haze of rum-induced fogginess until he found it. He ripped his mind away from hers none-too-gently, a curse ready on the tip of his tongue. His fury was so great that he was only distantly aware of the cheap coffee table cracking and breaking, of the cushions bursting into a hail of feathers. 

Instead of releasing one of his nastier curses, he simply _Obliviated_ her before towing Perks out of the room. “Go and pack your belongings and Hadrian’s ones as well. Be back in two minutes.” The girl nodded frantically before dashing up the stairs. 

Severus turned and started down a long, winding corridor. He could hear children screaming and running about all over the house, and a few even ran into him, though they quickly stopped their screeching when they saw his sneer. 

It took a few twists and turns but he was finally at the door he’d seen in the wretched woman’s mind. A simple _Alohomora_ unlocked the door and he started down the steps, wand-tip lighted by a _Lumos_.

His steps echoed around the vaguely empty room, which was a lot colder down that it was in the main part of the building. He froze with a foot poised over the next step as a voice cut through the silence. 

“Funny seeing you here, Professor.” The voice was familiar, if a little scratchy and hoarse, but as Severus swung around, wand held aloft, he couldn’t see the boy anywhere. 

“Hadrian?” he called, looking about. The place was neat, with boxes stacked orderly against one wall and a ladder leaning against another. The walls were all made of the same smooth concrete save for a single groove in one of the walls, but the boy was nowhere in sight. 

“Mind the last step, Professor. It’s rotten.” 

Just as the boy spoke, Severus set his foot down on the final step of the stairs and, had it not been for the warning, he would have tumbled face-first. As it was, he gripped the railing as he felt his foot sink into the crumbling wood before deftly hopping over it. 

He still couldn’t see where the boy was, and his voice rang out and echoed in the room too much to pinpoint one location. “I would appreciate it if you came out from wherever it is you’re hiding. I haven’t the time nor patience for games.” 

There was a little giggle then, like a child’s, before Hadrian responded in a voice that sounded a bit like a song. “Well, I _would_ if I _could_ but I _can’t_.” 

His voice was much clearer this time, lacking the echoing quality. Severus spun to the wall that it sounded like Hadrian had been stood at and, after a moment of puzzled staring, realised sharply that it wasn’t a wall at all but a smooth, concealed door. He wasn’t sure how it worked exactly, but the groove he’d noticed earlier appeared to be some kind of flap that, when he pushed it with his wand, turned out to be a window of sorts. 

The room beyond was dank and small and dark. He could vaguely make out the form of Hadrian, sat leant against the wall directly opposite. He appeared utterly unruffled in his usual style, and Severus would have believed he was, if not for the way the boy’s eyes glowed. They were practically luminescent in the darkness, piercing and bright. 

The door didn’t resist his magic as he whispered the charm to unlock it and soon enough it was swinging forward, letting in the minimal light. 

Hadrian emerged much slower, like a panther detaching itself from the surrounding darkness. He didn’t say anything as he passed Severus and started up the stairs, said nothing as they surfaced into the main body of the building. 

At the front of the orphanage, Perks was waiting beside two trunks, nervously wringing her hands and with eyes puffier than they’d been when he’d last seen her five minutes ago. Stood slightly to the side was Madam Ida wearing a pinched scowl. 

When Hadrian turned to look at her, the movement slow and dreadful, she whitened and her eyes widened and she took several stumbling steps back before coming to a dead halt. 

Severus felt the swell of magic in the air, familiar and malevolent as it had been in the duelling room last year. It rose and filled the room seemingly without end, curling higher and higher until it became painful to even take a breath. It was the snarl on the boy’s face that alerted him, the flash of pointed teeth and glowing eyes that had him lurching forward and shielding the girl with his body a split second before it happened. 

It was like a mini, controlled explosion, right there in front of him. Severus could only watch with wide eyes and bated breath as Hadrian erupted into a roiling, expanding mass of blackness. There were almost no words to describe the sheer _magic_ that tore through the air; it was ten times worse than the potent magic he’d first felt out front. It seemed to ripple the very space around them, suspend everything and reduce it to nothing more than a speck of dust. 

He- _it -_ surged forward in one, fluid motion, eating up the scarce few metres between him and the trembling muggle before it was on her, around her, consuming her whole. Severus couldn’t see beyond the darkness, couldn’t really hear anything beyond Perks’ loud cry and his own pounding heart. He was helpless in the face of such almighty power. 

The entire thing happened in the span of seconds. One moment, Hadrian was there, snarling at the woman and the next it was the Obscurus lunging at her and- in the next second the boy was there again staring at her, perfectly serene. 

Severus tore his gaze away from the softly smiling boy and to the woman who was curled in a foetal position on the floor, shuddering and gasping. She had one hand clutching at her face and when she drew it slowly away, it was stained crimson with blood. 

“I should like you to try such a foolish thing again,” he said simply, breathily, like he wasn’t quite tuned in to what was going on, “just so that I have an excuse to kill you. Yes, Madam Ida, _Ich bin dein Teufel und beim nächsten Mal werde ich deine Seele essen._ ” 

For a moment, Severus was inclined to believe him.

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Diagon Alley seemed even more packed than it had the year before. Tom the barman had recognised them, but thankfully kept his delight more controlled, instead plying them with an endless supply of butterbeer free-of-charge for as long as they ate. It only went a little way in lightening the mood amongst the three of them. 

Snape had declared that they would be shopping the next day before ordering them to the rooms they’d booked. The man had hesitated at the threshold as he left, looking at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Perhaps it was worry that he was feeling, but Hadrian wasn’t currently inclined to care all too much. Instead, he waved the Potions Master away, insisting that all was well and he and Sally-Anne had no plans on leaving their rooms before their scheduled time the next day. 

The surly man had left, scowling and muttering something about insolent brats and Hadrian found it much better than the weird look he’d been wearing before. 

Sally-Anne hadn’t left his side since he’d been...released. It was like those first few years when she’d come to the orphanage, tiny and silent and stuck to him. He was finishing off the book on etiquette which was mostly closing remarks on remembering the order of precedence and the likes. Sally-Anne had her head in his lap and he could tell from the lazy sway of her magic and occasional sniffle that she was drifting off into sleep. Part of him wished that the rest of the world would fall away and that this moment would be suspended forever, just him and Sally-Anne and books and peace. 

_(And if he happened to be awake when the clock struck midnight, then it certainly wasn’t to observe some silly little tradition he’d established for years now. And if his heart hurt a little then it was easy to dismiss as lingering effects from the day’s excitement and nothing more._

_And if deep down, in the furthest recesses of his mind, he longed for two figures he’d only ever seen in a mirror- well, then nobody had to know but him)_

Such maudlin thoughts were abandoned by the next day. He and Sally-Anne dressed in their wizarding robes, and already he noticed how much brighter her hair and eyes were. It was as if she sucked in the magic around her, and living at the orphanage had drained her of all she’d absorbed at Hogwarts. 

Snape was in his customary black and seemed to be eyeing them even more than he had before but Hadrian ignored him in favour of outlining their agenda for the day. They had to restock their potions supplies and perhaps get their robes lengthened slightly but they’d dedicate the bulk of their day to shopping for books. 

“Professor,” Sally-Anne cut in rather rudely, stopping Hadrian’s (slight ramble) about the etiquette texts he wanted to get. “Harry mentioned that you’d be taking us to Fortescue’s?”

Snape sneered, throwing a black look at him. “I didn’t know you were in the business of story-telling, Potter,” he drawled monotonously. Hadrian just waved a hand. 

“Oh please. It’s been, what, sixteen years since you last went? You could do with some cheering up, don’t you think?” It was more of a mumbled observation than anything else and he was busy noting something on some parchment so he missed the look of absolute shock on the professor’s face. 

“Great!” Sally-Anne enthused, clapping her hands. “Harry, I know you’ll be _ages_ in the book shop so you may as well get both of our books while Professor Snape and I head over to Fortescue’s.” The dark-haired boy just grunted, missing the significant look that the golden-haired girl threw the Potions Master. 

Not too long later, Tom had collected their breakfast plates and waved off all of Snape’s attempts at paying, ushering them into the Alley. It was early enough that the place wasn’t as packed as it had been when they arrived the day before, though there was already a sizable and steady crowd. 

Hadrian had hardly spent any money all of last year so there was no need to take a nauseating trip to his vault and they went instead straight to Madam Malkin’s. Just like last year, Sally-Anne seemed completely taken with all the robes and accessories on display. She and Madam Malkin chattered over styles, from frills to pinstripes and lace embroidery. Professor Snape looked like he was about to hurl and while Hadrian shared the sentiment, he decided it was much better to see his friend her usual, bubbly self. 

His patience ran out an hour later. 

“If you insist on holding such frivolous conversations then we’ll come back for you in twenty minutes,” ground out Snape before Hadrian could try to pry her away from a display of skirts. He was hesitant to leave her on her own in such a busy place, but decided that he’d know well enough if she was in danger. She hardly seemed to notice that they had left, and soon they were fighting over the best clippings of fluxweed as they made their way to _Slug & Jiggers_. 

Somewhere down the Alley, close to where Hadrian thought the bookstore to be, there was some sort of disturbance but he wasn’t interested enough in the quarrels of the insignificant so he shrugged and continued on into the shop. 

The woman behind the desk, one Ms Loraine, greeted them warmly and Hadrian found himself quickly abandoned by the surly professor as he delved into conversation with the woman on the latest publication of _Potions Quarterly_. It was rather rude, and Hadrian was sure that Lord Perrot who’d written his etiquette book would agree, but was too amused to be truly offended, even if the older man spent the whole time throwing insults at the other Potions Masters and scoffing at their ‘new discoveries’. Ms Loraine tittered the whole time and batted her lashes coquettishly. Hadrian sincerely hoped nobody ever did that when _he_ spoke to them or he’d surely refer them to St Mungo's to remove whatever seemed to have flown into their eyes. 

Snape showed no signs of ending his conversation anytime soon, so Hadrian decided to have a little wonder about. Not many people knew what he actually looked like so as long as he kept his scar hidden, he ran little risk of being mobbed. There was the _Magical Menagerie_ which he wanted to have a look into and one _Obscurus Books_ which looked to be mainly about magical creatures, which Sally-Anne would no-doubt enjoy if she ever made it out of the Robes shop. 

Further down, where the crowd seemed to thin and light suddenly stopped shining, there was another Alley, and Hadrian knew from experience the sorts of dealings that went on there. Last year when he’d snuck out of the orphanage, he hadn’t thought much of Knockturn. The witches and wizards that had slunk down there looked questionable at best, but their hooded faces and brisk steps suggested nothing more than an urgency to get their business done, which Hadrian had been able to understand. Even better, there had been only a fraction of the people shopping there compared to the rest of Diagon, which meant that he didn’t have to elbow his way through the masses in order to get what he needed. 

It had certainly been an eye-opener. He’d known, even before he’d gotten to Hogwarts, that though the Wizarding World was brilliant and fantastic and _magical_ , it had it’s seedier parts too, and poverty and destitution was just as prevalent. 

Hadrian knew he couldn’t go to Knockturn Alley with Snape still around, so he turned from it and wandered closer to _Scribbulus Writing Instruments_ , peering curiously at a few of the hissing instruments one of the peddlers was selling. He’d been just about to ask what one of them did when he suddenly felt eyes on him. 

He looked up and caught sight of a tall, slender woman with long hair that seemed nearer to silver than blonde. Everything about her screamed elegance and wealth, from the graceful way the crowds parted for her to the flowing material of her dark robes. He couldn’t make out her eyes colour from this distance but they were slanted and cat-like enough to give her an overall predatory air. 

At her side was a man who was perhaps only two or three inches taller than her and with hair that was equally as pale, though perhaps slightly whiter. He had a sharp look about him, pointy in an obviously aristocratic way though his jaw was slightly squared. There was a sneer pulling at his lips which Hadrian thought to be partly directed at him and partly at the surrounding masses. 

The attractive couple drew closer, until Hadrian could make out that the woman’s eyes were the lightest shade of grey while the man’s was a cold, flat blue. They appeared to be assessing him, and if it weren’t so painfully obvious who they were then he might have been tempted to sneer back. 

“Ah,” drawled a deep and familiar voice from behind him a moment before Hadrian felt a hand settle onto his shoulder. “Lord and Lady Malfoy, this Heir Potter-Black to the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black. Hadrian, this is Lord and Lady Malfoy of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.” 

“Heir Potter, our son has told us much about you.” Hadrian smiled up at the woman, accepting her proffered hand and laying a simple kiss to her knuckles as he bent slightly into a bow. Lady Mafoy gave something of a satisfied hum. 

“Yes, ma’am. It is a pleasure to meet you, and your husband. I must thank you for the book you sent for me earlier this year. It has proven to be quite useful indeed.” He bowed shallowly to the taller version of Draco who stood beside the woman with a thick air of importance. The man’s nose seemed stuck in the air and Hadrian wondered how he managed to move both gracefully and as if he had a steel pipe shoved down the back of his robes. Hadrian wondered if he knew that he had a few flecks of dried blood near his nose. It wasn’t particularly noticeable, but Hadrian had always been rather drawn to blood.

“So you are the one that stole the heirship from Draco,” the man drawled in that familiar, aristocratic way. At his back, he could feel Snape bristling. Hadrian’s smile sharpened as he turned the full weight of his gaze to the man. 

“I assure you, Lord Malfoy, that there was no thievery involved. The heirship was passed to me by the son of the main line. I do believe that makes my claim stronger than Draco’s.” 

“A son who was a disgrace to his House and hung around with blood traitors.” Beside her husband, Lady Malfoy stiffened. 

“A son who currently sits in Azkaban for allegedly following the same man you were accused of serving.” Hadrian watched the man’s mouth tighten with barely restrained glee. 

“Perhaps,” Lady Malfoy cut in, “we should move such delicate topics to a venue that is not so public. Mr Potter, the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy would be honoured to host you at our estate next week.” 

Hadrian slid his gaze from the still-glaring Lord Malfoy to his wife. “I humbly accept your invitation, Lady Malfoy, and look forward to it. If you get Draco to owl me with a date and Floo address, I will be sure to come.” 

Narcissa Malfoy inclined her head, giving Hadrian her hand once more for him to kiss. “Very well. We will see you then.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Lucius finished signing the final document of the first stack with a flourish before setting his quill aside and flicking up a _Tempus_. 

He cursed. Only ten minutes until the boy was to arrive and if he was as his old friend had described him to be, he’d be here within the next five. He pushed away from his desk, scooping his can up and twirling it idly as he went through the manor. He had to change out of his shirt because the one he currently wore had ink stains on the cuff and was missing the top button (admittedly, the _Reparo_ he’d thrown at it half-a-minute before his firecall with the Minister was half-hearted at best so it was no surprise that it hadn’t lasted very long).

Once dressed in a fresh, crisp white shirt and customary black receiving robes, he undid the ribbon that kept his hair back and cast a quick charm which brushed and straightened it (only his family and Severus Snape knew it was naturally quite wavy and he thanked Merlin that Draco had inherited his mother’s bone-straight hair despite having his colouring).

On the steps, he ran into Draco and he felt his eyes narrow almost of their own accord. His son looked impeccable, which was to be expected, but it wasn’t in the usual way. His hair was, for the first time since he’d managed to get into his mother’s hair potions aged eight, not slicked back but rather combed and parted neatly to the side. Lucius had been trying for years to subtly tell his son that the slicked-back look was rather unflattering but he’d been as stubborn and bullheaded as a Gryffindor and refused to listen. Lucius had left him to it because while it did make his pointy features rather more pronounced (one of the few unfortunate downsides to Malfoy blood) it did make him look a bit more formidable. Now though, Lucius could see the happy child who’d spent so long laughing as he pulled on his father’s hair and almost strangled himself trying to wear a tie. 

His hair wasn’t the only thing that Draco had changed, either. Last summer, before he’d gone off to Hogwarts, Narcissa had taken him shopping in Paris to get the latest trend in robes or something of the sort (Narcissa hardly needed an excuse to spend Galleons, least of all on their son) and she’d been quite taken with a particular charcoal-grey robe that apparently flattered him; Draco had protested heavily that he would wear nothing but green and black so it had been relegated to the back of his wardrobe. 

He wore it now, and he looked so...so _different_ that for a moment Lucius wasn’t quite sure of what to say. He could feel his wife’s presence coming closer and chose to say nothing at all. 

“Dragon,” she called, gliding past him to cup Draco’s face in her palms. Lucius noticed his son’s cheeks turn pink. “Those robes look _lovely_ on you. I thought you didn’t like them?” 

Draco coughed a bit before he spoke in a slight tremble. “Well, I find it rather fetching now. Do you disagree?” 

Lucius felt the faint tremor of confusion lance across the bond he shared with his wife. Draco hadn’t sought their approval on clothes since he’d befriended the Zabini boy- and even then he only got (and ignored) their thoughts when it came to balls and important social functions. 

Narcissa chuckled and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Of course not, Dragon. You look very handsome.” 

Lucius decided to take pity on his heir. 

“Come now, Narcissa, stop coddling the boy. Our guest will be here soon.” Narcissa clucked her tongue and shot him a look but he could feel her amusement. 

They assembled in the receiving room where he endured his wife smoothing down his collar and tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “Now, Lucius,” she started, and her voice was too low for Draco to pick up and slightly husky. Her breasts barely brushed his chest and the scent of her- strawberries and roses- filled his lungs. His fingers twitched with the desire to hold her but he knew better than that by now. “If you do anything to embarrass me in front of my Blood House, you will find yourself in quite a difficult position.” He felt himself stir at her words but that was quickly squashed when she followed them up with “And not in the manner you’d find pleasurable.” 

His cheeks were as red as his son’s when she stepped away, and no sooner had she assured her place closest to the fireplace did the Floo flare. 

A tall, dark-haired man wearing a half-scowl/half-sneer stepped out, flicking his wand to vanish lingering Floo powder. He accepted Narcissa’s proffered hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles and bowing. Lucius noticed the way the man’s eyes darted everywhere, which was not new but the scrutiny and intensity in his gaze was, even as he bowed slightly to him. 

The Floo flared again and Lucius distantly heard his son suck in a breath before they all turned to look at the fireplace. 

The boy stepped out with a grace most never managed to achieve. He had the trademark Potter hair, though it was marginally more tamed than it had been in Diagon Alley. His sharp, verdant gaze swept the room before he stepped forward to greet his hosts. 

Lucius watched Narcissa watch the boy, eyes narrowing as he moved on to Draco. “Well met, Heir Malfoy.” 

Draco didn’t say anything for a second too long but seemed to finally find his tongue. “Well met, Heir Black, Heir Potter.” 

Lucius felt a sneer pull at his lips at the first title but refrained from saying anything, though a noise of some sort slipped out when he noticed that neither boy had let go of the other’s hand despite being well past the five-second mark. 

The boy’s bow to him was only a trace deeper than Severus’ own, and Lucius had to wonder at how dominant James Potter’s arrogance had been over the Mudblood’s more demure politeness. 

They moved on then into the parlour, where Lucius immediately claimed his favourite armchair which faced the door. He ignored Severus’ glare but took note of Potter’s slight hesitation before sitting across from him. Narcissa called for two house-elves to serve tea and if it weren’t for the fact that Lucius was studying the boy, he’d never have noticed the way his eyes widened when he saw the pitiful creatures, nor the way his hands twitched from where they were folded in his lap. 

Soon enough, the three adults were engaged in the customary small talk; what new potions had Severus been brewing? Had he gotten any new legislation through the Wizengamot? Was Narcissa going to be throwing one of her famed summer galas? The weather was even mentioned a few times, though it was in relation to Severus’ inability to travel to South-East Asia to look for a few rare potion’s ingredients. 

“Heir Black,” Narcissa said, deceptively soft. Lucius knew exactly where this line of questioning was heading so he sat back and said nothing, watching as the boy set down his teacup and saucer and smiled. “I have heard nothing but wonderful things from Draco about you. I must confess I find myself curious.” 

Potter’s gaze slipped to Draco then, and even as Lucius saw his son fight to keep stoic, his flush was stark against his pale skin. “Well, Lady Malfoy, Draco and I are good friends, not to mention family. I’d be rather hurt if we weren’t on good terms.” 

Lucius fought the effort to bark out a laugh. The boy evidently was adept at political dances, though nowhere near ready to tango with the likes of himself or Narcissa. Still, it was almost endearing to see him try. Not even Draco would have been able to navigate a minefield like that so well. 

The boy’s tone had been pleasant enough, but it was almost laughably easy to decipher his message. 

_I am the Heir to House Black. We are family. We cannot feud._

Narcissa hummed and took a sip of her tea. “Yes well, I think it high time that we speak freely, don’t you?” 

“Of course, Lady Malfoy.” 

Lucius saw Severus’ eye twitch.

“Well, I’m sure I speak for the entire wizarding community when I say that it was quite a shock to hear that you’d obtained the Black heirship. As far as we’re aware, your closest relation by blood to our House was through your grandmother, Dorea Potter. Draco’s claim should be much greater, by all rights.” 

Potter blinked at her. “The heirship was passed to me by my godfather. I’m sure we spoke of this in Diagon Alley.” 

Narcissa seemed to ignore his blunder. “Yes, but things are more complicated than that. For any other house, naming an heir would make the named the heir of that House, but the Blacks are different. We are a paranoid bunch and some centuries ago a ritual was performed that only those with the most recent Black blood can claim the heirship. _Toujours Pur_ and all.” Her smile was soft and forgiving, the kind of look she gave to tellers who refused to sell to ‘Death Eater scum’ before she ordered Lucius to buy out the company. 

He watched Potter cant his head to the side before nodding slowly, a smile rising to his lips. 

“I see. Perhaps I wasn’t quite clear, earlier. Between the time I was born and he betrayed my parents to the Dark Lord Voldemort, Sirius Black performed a Blood Ritual to make me legally and magically his heir. He probably didn’t expect me to live as long as I have but...well, we all know how that went.” 

The boy took a sip of his tea while Lucius scrambled to draw on all his etiquette lessons as a child and not gawk outright at the boy. From what he could feel thrumming through the bond, Narcissa was in much the same state. Draco didn’t look surprised. 

“You were Blood Adopted?” The boy nodded. Narcissa set her cup carefully on her saucer before turning bright grey eyes on the boy. The suspicion that had lurked in them was gone and in its place only glowing respect and something else Lucius had never seen before. 

“You must understand,” she continued, sitting forward, “there has never been a Blood Adopted Black before.” 

“Why?” Potter asked, echoing Lucius’ thoughts. He’d known that there hadn’t before been any Blood adoptions of the Black line and chalked it up to their obsession over blood purity but Narcissa’s reaction hinted at something more. 

“The Blacks are very particular about who we mingle with, who carries not only our name and legacy but our blood. It’s a sacred thing and can be used for a vast amount of things. One of our oldest ancestors- we’re not sure who- performed a ritual which made it almost impossible to Blood Adopt anyone who doesn’t have a specific set of requirements already existing in their blood. There’s been at least half-a-dozen who’ve tried, each with very promising candidates, but none of the adoptions took. Most recently Uncle Alphard tried with the MacDougal boy. He was bright and powerful and definitely had a lot going for him. The Ritual consumed him, boiled his blood in his veins and roasted his heart. But for it to have _worked_ …” Her eyes glittered again. 

Lucius took in everything his wife said. She didn’t speak much on Black Family matters and it was well-known that they harboured more than a few secrets but this...Lucius could never imagine anything of the kind. For the boy to have been accepted by magic and by blood...by the _Black_ _Family_ magic and blood was nothing short of miraculous. 

Potter smiled then, and it was sharp and toothy and more animalistic than any boy his age had a right to look. 

“I see. I wasn’t aware of the significance, Lady Malfoy, so thank you.” 

Narcissa waved her hand in the air as she smiled, wider than Lucius had seen before. “Please, you must call me Narcissa. We are, as you pointed out, family. In fact, the House of Malfoy extends its formal hand of alliance to you, Heir Black, Heir Potter, for so long as our Houses remain honourable and noble with each other.” 

Lucius had no time to protest before the boy responded with, “I accept your hand of alliance on behalf of House Malfoy. And please, call me Hadrian.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

The rest of the summer passed smoothly.

Hadrian and Sally-Anne remained lodgers at the Leaky Cauldron for two weeks until Snape had to return to Hogwarts. Hadrian had told the man that they’d be fine staying where they were but he apparently chose to ignore that because one morning they’d gone down for breakfast to see Lucius Malfoy sat sneering at the stained tabletops and floating mugs. 

“You won’t be eating breakfast here so gather your things,” he’d drawled, glaring at a rag that dared get too close. Hadrian narrowed his eyes at the man, but then he noticed that the chair he sat on had been transfigured so the seat was plusher and there were even ornate carvings that all the other chairs lacked. “Oh, and do be quick about it.” 

And so it was that he and Sally-Anne flooed to Malfoy Manor. 

He could tell that his friend was nervous. While Hadrian had been visiting quite frequently in the past two weeks, he hadn’t dared bring her along. It was common knowledge what Lord Malfoy thought of muggle-borns and even more well-known the Blacks’ stance on blood purity. He wasn’t about to subject Sally-Anne to that, but he hadn’t been quite willing to give up the knowledge that the Malfoys offered. While he spent time with Draco, Sally-Anne flooed over to the Abbott estate.

Now, though, they sat in the parlour, Lord Malfoy having dropped them off before stalking to his study. Hadrian could hear two sets of steps getting closer, one faster than the other and he knew Draco was barely keeping from running. 

“Hadrian! I didn’t know you were coming today or I would’ve…” the blond trailed off, cheeks going red. Hadrian just smiled. 

“I didn’t know either, Draco. It was quite a surprise to see your father sat in the Leaky Cauldron of all places. A sight I shall never forget, for sure.” He turned to Narcissa then. “It’s lovely to see you again, Aunt Cissa. This is Sally-Anne Perks. She’s a very dear friend of mine.” 

He placed a hand on the small of Sally-Anne’s back and, though she was near trembling from nerves, she turned her bright, blinding smile on the woman. Hadrian studied his ‘Aunt’. Her eyes were sharp as they flickered over Sally-Anne’s face, took in the minimal space between them, caught the shaking of her hands. Her chin tipped up and her eyes narrowed fractionally before she let a smile grace her face. 

“Of course, Miss Perks. I wonder, is there any relation at all to Wizarding Perks family? I know they were said to have died out but there is some slight resemblance.” 

Hadrian perked up at that, glancing over at Draco’s surprised face. He remembered the boy’s words on the train to Hogwarts last year, declaring Sally-Anne to be a _mudblood_. Perhaps the Perks’ hadn’t been well-known. 

“I...I don’t know,” Sally-Anne stuttered, and Hadrian caught the flash of displeasure in Lady Malfoy’s eyes. “And please, call me Sally-Anne.” She offered another tremulous smile, to which Lady Malfoy just nodded. 

“Very well. Hadrian, I need to speak with you for a moment. Draco, I’m sure Miss- _ahem_ \- Sally-Anne would like to see the peacocks and Abraxans.” 

Hadrian gave Sally-Anne a final smile and let his magic lick against hers for a brief second before he got up to follow his aunt out of the room. Before the door closed, he could hear her asking Draco about their eating habits. 

“I must thank you for agreeing to host us until school starts,” he started as they made their way into the library. It was by far his favourite place in the entire manor, with books and topics to rival Hogwarts’ own. “We wouldn’t have minded staying at the Cauldron but it’s-” 

“Nonsense, Hadrian,” the woman interrupted, gesturing for him to sit. They were by the fireplace. “You are the heir to my Blood House and it’s an honour to host you for however long you need. In fact, I must insist that you stay with us for the entirety of next year’s summer. No Black should have to live in the muggle world, and an orphanage of all places.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

Hadrian laughed. “Yes, I agree. It’s just...Headmaster Dumbledore insisted, and I believe he’s my magical guardian.” 

Aunt Cissa smiled then, but it was cold and dangerous. “Don’t worry about that, we’ll get it all sorted. But there are a few things we must discuss.” She snapped her finger and a house-elf arrived- Dobby. The creature started setting up a small breakfast with croissants and English muffins. He helped himself to some. “It is really quite admirable how well you’ve managed to adapt to the wizarding world, having never encountered it before Hogwarts, but there is still some work to be done. As the heir to two prominent Houses _and_ being the Boy-Who-Lived, a lot of eyes will be on you. It’s imperative you learn how to behave, what to say, what to do in any given situation.” 

Hadrian frowned as he swallowed a pastry. “Wasn’t that what the book was for? Etiquette and the like?” 

She laughed. “Yes, it was, but it was rather surface.” She laughed again as he choked on his tea. “Indeed. There is a lot to learn, even more to do. Remember that there are some in our society who have lived for over one hundred years. Manners are the basis of any civilised society and if you have any hope of being more than just a famous face, then you must learn and adhere to them.” 

She paused, pulling out her wand and casting a silent _Incendio_ at the fireplace. “That is why I have set you up with a tutor, of sorts, to teach you the ins and outs of navigating polite society. You’ll be working with them over the next year and at intervals returning to the Manor so I can see how it’s coming along.” 

She went then to the fireplace, throwing some Floo powder in before calling out an address as she stuck her head into the flames. She had a quick conversation with the other person before reclaiming her seat. “They will be here shortly. Both are vassals of House Black and will do their utmost best to instruct you in the ways befitting an heir. Ah, here they are.” 

Hadrian stood and turned, expecting to see an old man with white hair. Instead, two boys came in, smiling, each of them kissing Aunt Cissa’s hand. Then they turned to him and, instead of shaking his hand as he expected, they both took a knee, heads bowed as they intoned, “Heir Black, we as vassals of the House Black do offer our services and renew our promises of faith and honour.” 

And so it was that Terence Higgs and Adrien Pucey became Hadrian Potter-Black’s first sworn vassals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I am so sorry that it took so long for the next chapter but man this was a hard one to write. I'm still not completely happy with it but I couldn't delay it any longer. Anyway, let me know what you think? 
> 
> Translations:  
> \- Ich bin dein Teufel und beim nächsten Mal werde ich deine Seele essen: I am the devil and the next time I'll eat your soul
> 
> \- du Damon: you demon
> 
> \- du Teufel: you devil


	18. By the Pricking of my Thumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian's an idiot and so is Theo. Nothing like a good ol' duel to sort them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey there. Another chapter? Why yes! Enjoy, see ya at the bottom!

_By the pricking of my thumb, something wicked this way comes.  
\- Second Witch; Macbeth_

“Is everything packed?” 

Hadrian paused, swallowing his mouthful of tea before looking over at the man. Sally-Anne, sat to his left, nodded enthusiastically enough for the both of them. The man hummed, sitting back in his seat, but Hadrian could still feel those eyes on him. 

“I’m afraid those books can’t leave the library, Hadrian, though I’m delighted to know of your varied reading tastes.” 

Hadrian smiled. “Of course, Lord Malfoy. I’m sure the Headmaster wouldn’t appreciate such work that conflicts with the curriculum.” His eyes flicked up to meet the icy gaze of Lucius Malfoy and held. The man was a...curious figure. Mercurial. His magic didn’t flare and trail off him like it did the Headmaster and Snape, nor did it feel particularly powerful. By all means, the man was no better a wizard than the average one found in Diagon Alley. 

But what he lacked in magical prowess he certainly made up for with his silver tongue and political meandering. The man spoke with purpose and Hadrian found he rarely said only one thing; his subtext had subtext. In the early days of him staying at the manor, the man had tried a number of ways to interrogate him, suss him out, discover his political leanings. Hadrian supposed that the only thing that saved him was that he didn’t have much of any. There was still a lot about the Wizarding World to which he was ignorant and he had no doubt that the Head of House Malfoy had discovered that and made plans around it. 

Draco had seemed completely oblivious to the political dances happening in his own house the entire summer, which was weirdly endearing to him. Hadrian could be in the library reading a book with veiled references to Blood Magic where Lord Malfoy would find him and start interrogating him, only for Draco to bound in with an equally-excited Sally-Anne trailing after him and drag Hadrian off to their Quidditch pitch for a game. Only once, when he and Malfoy Sr. had been locked in a battle of wills, did Draco pause, but then his father’s face morphed into one of exasperated fondness and he’d waved the two of them away. 

Hadrian wasn’t fooled, though. He knew that the man used to serve the very person who’d rendered him an orphan and tried to kill him only a few months ago. It would take more than a slightly tenuous connection to his wife’s Blood House to switch the man’s loyalties.

This was confirmed by Dobby. 

Hadrian had first met Dobby when he’d been been locked in the basement at the orphanage. Something like a day had passed since he’d forced Travis to torture himself and the anger and blackness that was always present seemed dormant, mollified. 

He’d been levitating pieces of rocks and the spiders that crawled on the walls just to remind himself that even though he couldn’t unlock the door, he still had his magic. He made the spiders dance and twirl, even going so far to create a choreography in a bid to distract himself. 

_(The door was right there, a simple Alohomora could do it. But...he couldn’t, could he? He never could. Never would. Too pathetic, too stupid, too weak)_

The wrinkled creature had popped in with a loud _crack_ , startling him. Hadrian had flung his arm out instinctively and pinned it to the wall, eyes narrowed and heart thumping. “Please! Harry Potter, sir! Dobby means no harm!”

“Who are you!” he’d shouted, foregoing composure. “What do you want?” 

“Dobby, I- I am Dobby the house-elf, sir! Please, Harry Potter, sir! I only took them so you wouldn’t return. You musn’t return!” 

Hadrian narrowed his eyes on the creature- a thing with large eyes and wrinkled skin and large, pointed ears that dropped down. It was a thin and sickly looking thing, with no more than a dirty-looking pillowcase tied around its body. 

He let his magic drop from around it- _Dobby_ , apparently- and watched it stand. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” 

Dobby put his head in his hands as he shook it. “Oh, Dobby has been a bad house-elf! But Harry Potter is _good_ , and must not return to Hoggywarts! It be not safe!”

Hadrian frowned. “Why is it not safe, Dobby?” 

“Dobby cannot say! A bad man has plans, Harry Potter, sir!” Then the house-elf gasped, slapping his hands over his mouth before turning to the wall and bashing his head against it. Hadrian jumped up, alarmed, and pulled the thing away from the wall.

“What the hell? Stop that, Dobby!” he infused his words with the magic of a command and watched the thing freeze, turning to him with wide eyes. 

“Oh, Harry Potter is too _good_! Dobby must punish himself for speaking ill of his master!” 

Hadrian bit back on the irritation scratching at his throat and forced a smile onto his face. “Don’t worry, Dobby, I won’t ask you about your master, so you won’t have to punish yourself, okay? Come, sit down, you must be exhausted.” 

He walked the house-elf over to the few blankets Madam Ida had thrown at him before pushing him into the room and locking it behind him. 

_(A lock that could be undone easily with magic, but you’re too weak to use it, aren’t you?)_

Dobby wailed for some time about him being kind and just and worthy and-- well, it was nice to heart after spending a month in this muggle hell-hole, even if it was from an insane magical creature. 

“--and Dobby knows he shouldn’t have taken Miss Sally-Anne and Mister Harry Potter, sir’s letters but if you have no friends then you wouldn’t want to go back- and you _can’t_ go back-”

Hadrian narrowed his eyes on the creature, feeling the anger lick up in his stomach. “What?” he asked in a low, controlled voice. The house-elf shrank away from him a little but shook his head. “What have you been doing with my post?” 

“I- I…” The thing looked away before drawing a stack of papers from it’s back. 

The flames of anger burned hotter. 

“Give them to me.” 

Dobby backed up, eyes even wider. He shook his head. “No-not until you promise not to go to Hoggywarts!” 

“Give. Them. _To me!”_ The last two words sounded sharper to his ears, more melodic than the others but he didn’t care. He’d probably started lisping again, which he’d done a lot when he was younger. 

The house-elf seemed frozen in place, eyes wide with horror. Hadrian prowled closer to it, crowding it against the wall. “Now listen to me very carefully, Dobby. If you don’t give me those letters, I will make your master’s punishments look like child’s play. You may think me kind but I will do my utmost best to disavow you of that opinion. Are we clear?” 

The stunned thing just nodded shallowly before handing over the stack with shaking hands. Hadrian smiled, and it was as sugary sweet as it had been before. “Good,” he crooned, and smoothed a hand down the bald thing’s head. Dobby made a curious sound, something like a sob and a sigh. “Now, open that door for me, and we can move this conversation to a more suitable venue.” 

Dobby looked up at him then and said, very simply, “Harry Potter must not return to Hoggywarts.” Then he disapparated with another loud _crack_ and Hadrian unleashed his fury on the room. 

So imagine his surprise when he saw the exact same creature pop into existence that day in the Malfoy parlour. He’d tamped down on it, obviously, but it had been a shock all the same. 

There hadn’t been any time afterwards, however, to interrogate the thing. Not until last night. “Dobby,” he’d started, after he’d called it into his room. “I must apologise for the way we ended things the last time. It was a...frustrating situation and I took it out on you.” 

Dobby wailed and started up the spiel about Hadrian’s kindness and generosity. He let it go on for a while before he interrupted. “Can you tell me, though, about what’s dangerous?”

“Dobby can’t!” it had cried before bashing it’s head against his bed frame. He’d been willing to let it go on because he wasn’t particularly fond of the thing but as he sneered, he flicked up a silencing spell so Draco, whose room was next door, didn’t come investigating. 

Hadrian scowled. “Fine,” he gritted out, before turning a false and sugary smile to the thing. “I understand that you can’t give away your Master’s secrets, Dobby.” 

“Oh Master Harry Potter is too kind!” it had wailed, sobbing loudly. “Dobby has heard of Master Harry Potter’s kindness to others but never to a lowly house-elf! This is why Dobby must _help_ Master Harry Potter! He must not return to Hogywarts! It is too dangerous!” 

Hadrian had hit Dobby with a silencing charm, though the thing didn’t seem to realise. Nothing could stop it from punishing itself so he allowed it to batter itself with the lamp and whatever heavy tome he’d yet to pack away. It was a rather distasteful display, and Hadrian had always hated tears, but he could appreciate the wrinkled thing. It had no doubt heard stories of how he’d ‘defeated’ Lord Voldemort and decided to risk severe punishment in ensuring his continued health. Stupid, reckless, more worthy of Gryffindor than any Weasley, but helpful nonetheless. Maybe he’d request this particular elf from the Malfoys in the future. 

It had taken nearly an hour to convince the elf that while he’d go to the platform the next day, he’d not be getting on the train to Hogwarts and- careful not to compliment or thank the elf (which he’d done once and paid the price of ten minutes of continuous wailing)- usher him out. 

Dobby had all but confirmed that Lucius Malfoy had plans for Hogwarts that year, which left him in quite a sticky spot. On one hand, Lucius Malfoy came with his wife who would prove to be an invaluable link to high society and learning all he needed to as an heir. On the other, the man had probably devised a way to have him killed that year which probably had a higher chance of working, both as an incredibly cunning man and as a member of the Board of Governors; he had actual access to the school if he so chose. 

“Come now, Hadrian. Don’t look so put-out. After all, you’ll be returning here for Yule and the library isn’t going anywhere,” remarked Narcissa flippantly, stirring sugar into her coffee. She drank it black. 

Draco beamed in the seat beside him. “I was going to ask, Mother. Will we be attending the Yule Ball this year? Are the others invited? Don’t we need new dress robes?” 

Narcissa smiled indulgently at her son. “Yes, Draco. I’ve got your measurements but if they change over the next few months we can always get Mr Gobrachev to alter them. Now for you, dear,” she turned her sharp gaze to Sally-Anne, who instantly flushed. “We really must see about finding out if you’re related to the Perks. I’ve got some lovely gowns in mind but they’ll have to be done in your House colours for your first appearance.” 

Sally-Anne shifted, tucking a few strands of golden hair behind her ear (they’d regained their colour and bounce, and served to be one of the only things the two females in the house could bond over). “Do...do you have any books on genealogy? Or something I can look up?” 

Narcissa studied her for a moment before smiling, apparently satisfied. “I can dig up a few. There are archives at Hogwarts, though. Yearbooks and the trophy room or even the professors who may have an idea. I’m sure it couldn’t be too hard.” 

Sally-Anne smiled. 

After that, it was a simple matter of shrinking their trunks and getting ready to Floo over to the platform. Sally-Anne had let Hedwig fly to Hogwarts because she didn’t believe in confining her to a cage. Hadrian did the same for his own eagle. 

They’d visited Diagon Alley again in the last week and Sally-Anne had insisted on getting some owl treats for Hedwig (Lord Malfoy had slipped off down Knockturn Alley and into a store that he couldn’t really see the name of, though he knew it started with a _B_ ). Hadrian had hardly strolled past a row of bird feed when there was a screech and a flurry of black feathers. A weight settled on his shoulders and two bright, amber eyes were turned to him. He stared at the bird incredulously, watched it watching him. 

Sally-Anne had gushed about how beautiful it was (“She’s a _girl_ , Harry. Can’t you tell from how large she is?”) before immediately running off to get a whole host of unimportant knick-knacks. Hadrian had shrugged, which the eagle had nipped his ear for, and wandered off to go look at the snakes with Draco. 

The blond had been watching them slither about with a fascinated gleam in his eye, pointing out the baby ones with the still-broken shells and the large, black one with bright yellow eyes and two wicked fangs. 

_“This snow-furred person smells good. Come closer, snow, so I can eat you,”_ it had hissed out, low and melodic, winding its way around the habitat. Perhaps Draco didn’t hear because he continued talking about how his father had promised to get him a snake if he did well on his OWLs. 

Hadrian pulled him back from the display. 

The other snakes all seemed to be talking about the same thing, about how good Draco smelt and how bright Hadrian’s eyes were. One of them, a girl, he could tell somehow, had beautiful, navy scales that shimmered and changed in the light to a lovely plum colour. Hadrian stepped closer to her, amused by her hissings. _“This one with the jewel eyes is good. His fur will make a good den.”_

Hadrian smiled, and went to hiss back like he’d done to all the other snakes he’d found at the orphanage (they used to be in the countryside before the building was shut down and they’d merged with the one in London) when the eagle on his shoulder screeched and dug her talons into his shoulder. 

When he turned to glare at her, she glared right back, until he stepped away from the display. She didn’t settle fully, though, until he’d returned to the front of the shop. 

He named her Zilia. 

When the time came for them to Floo to the platform, they all lined up in the room. Lord Malfoy had excused himself to leave for the Ministry as he had a meeting or two soon, and Draco was the first through the fireplace. Sally-Anne followed, waving goodbye to Dobby who stood awkwardly in the corner. Hadrian ignored the creature, stepping into the fireplace. 

But before he could even throw down the Floo powder or shout out his destination, the green fire roared, flaring up. He had barely a second to note the horror on Narcissa’s face before he was whisked away in a whirl of green and soot. He spun for what felt like an eternity, flashes of rooms and streets streaking by in a blur before he was spat out into an unfamiliar, dark and grimy place. 

There were skulls littered all over the place and a gnarled, golden hand sat on a cushion and an eye submerged in fluid in a jar. As he moved through the shop, he noticed that most everything exuded an aura of darkness that he’d seen only once before, and even then Quirrel’s own pitiful magic diluted it. 

Outside of the shop, he noted the name- _Borgin and Burke’s_. Hadn’t that been the place Lord Malfoy had disappeared into? 

He shook off the thought, tucked it away to examine for another time. For now, he had to concentrate on finding a way to Hogwarts. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that he had missed the Hogwarts Express. 

Fuming, he made his way through Knockturn Alley, sneering and scowling even more darkly than usual at the hags and hunched wizards that tried to get him to buy from their stalls. 

Diagon Alley was half as full as it usually was with probably most of its frequenters dropping children off at the Platform or making their way back. It wouldn’t be a total hardship to get a Floo there but there would be no point, not with the train gone and already on its way to Hogsmeade. He needed to find another way to get there. 

Still fuming, he made his way through the Leaky Cauldron. Tom, as usual, gave a cheery, enthusiastic wave which he returned half-heartedly as he made his way into Muggle London and the alley just beside the pub. Sighing, he flicked his wand from its holster and held it out like he’d seen Snape do.

It took hardly more than thirty seconds before the triple-decker bus was screeching into sight and the doors were crashing open. “Welcome to the Knight Bus; emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor for the day.” The man put the slip of parchment away before eyeing Hadrian. “‘Old on a minute. Aren’t you the one Professor Snape is always carting around? Where’s the other one?” 

Hadrian scowled. “Not here. I’d like to go to Hogsmeade, assuming you go that far.” He raised a brow, ignoring the man’s whistle. 

“Course we go to Hogsmeade! Just the village though, mind. Have to hoof it to the castle or station if that where ya headin’. 1 Galleon 6 Sickles.” Hadrian handed over the money before taking a tentative seat on one of the beds. 

He’d been expecting to make it to Hogsmeade well before the Express, but of course luck wouldn’t be on his side. Because his destination was the farthest, it couldn’t be a direct route, especially with others having gotten on before him. Wixen were picked up and dropped off all over the place, though they did work their way steadily north. By the time Hadrian stumbled off the Bus in Hogsmeade, he’d been to Wales, Dorchester and Newcastle. They’d even made a brief stop on the Isle of Man, which was possibly the most uncomfortable journey he’d ever made. 

By the time he stumbled off the bus, he was green in the face and entirely grateful that he’d rejected the offered hot-chocolate. He sat on a nearby bench for a moment, trying to even out his breathing and will away his nausea. 

Hogsmeade was a quaint little town. The buildings weren’t as badly misshapen as the ones in Diagon Alley with their modern air but retained their distinctly wizarding feel; they were all made from the same dark stone and ended with their roofs poking into the sky. There was a pub not too far away, The Three Broomsticks Inn, with various shops lining the street, from Zonkos the joke shop to Honeydukes Sweet Shop. Hadrian could tell that it was almost perfectly catered to Hogwarts’ students. 

A loud screech cut through the silence, and Hadrian looked up, wand instantly in hand. He couldn’t make anything out, at first, but then he saw a dark shape coming closer, made out the large wingspan and watched as it came to a lazy stop on his shoulder. 

He grinned. 

“Hello there, girl,” he cooed, stroking her head. The look she gave him was somehow reproachful, as if she was chastising him for making her wait. He rolled his eyes. “Yea, whatever. It wasn’t my fault. Which way is the castle?” She turned her head west. “Okay. Take this to Professor Snape, will you? I’ll be along shortly.” 

He tore off a piece of parchment and scribbled a hasty note before handing it to her. She took it in one talon, nipped his ear, gave a brief screech before flying off. 

He watched her for a moment, taking note of the direction and how far off she veered, before standing and setting off. 

It didn’t take long for the lights of the castle to come into sight and a half-an-hour later, he came to the gates of the school. 

Hagrid was there already, and the large man made a show of fussing over him, making sure he was alright and had everything he needed for the year. It was strange, and the most adult Hadrian had ever seen the oaf act, but a few warm smiles and placates got the half-giant off his back. 

They made their way into the castle and straight up to the Headmaster’s office. Hagrid gave the password “Fizzing Whizzbee” and left him on the moving staircase. 

The Headmaster’s office was just as he remembered it; cluttered, chaotic and absolutely brimming with magic. The little huffing and puffing devices whirred merrily in their places on the bookshelves and atop tall stacks of paper. A few looked broken, but he didn’t have much time to examine them closer. 

Snape was there, as was (of course) Dumbledore and…

“Aunt Cissa?” 

The blonde woman stood quickly, eyes widening slightly as she set the teacup in its rightful saucer. 

“Oh, Hadrian,” the woman breathed, and though her voice seemed utterly unaffected, he could detect a slight warbled. She strode forward and cupped his face in her hands. “Where on _earth_ have you been?” 

He tried to hide his bafflement, eyes flicking over to Snape who simply rose a dark eyebrow and Dumbledore who looked to be frowning. He offered Narcissa a small smile. “Well, the Floo...malfunctioned? I ended up in Kn- not on the Platform but in Diagon Alley. The train had already left and I didn’t want to chance Flooing again so I took the Knight Bus.” 

Her nose wrinkled at that, and she smoothed a hand over his shoulders, picking at invisible lint (he knew there was nothing there because he’d spent the entire trek up to the castle making sure. That bus was clean enough but left him feeling rather dirty). 

“It is most curious,” started the Headmaster, and when they all turned to him, his frown was replaced by twinkling eyes. “That Harry was the only one affected by this...malfunction, is it not Mrs Malfoy?” 

She didn’t stiffen as he might have at the veiled accusation. 

“Most. Though, I do hope you’re not insinuating that my family or I are responsible for tampering with the Floo. If you recall, my _son_ and Hadrian’s friend Miss Perks both went before him.” 

There was tense silence for a second before Hadrian smiled brightly at the Headmaster, doing his best to channel Sally-Anne. “Aunt Cissa wouldn’t do that, Professor. We’re family and we spent the majority of the summer together. I know you were worried about my safety when I’m away from Hogwarts but the Malfoy wards are truly formidable. I’ve enjoyed getting to know what little family I have left.” 

Dumbledore didn’t say anything in response to that, but there was a returning twinkle to his eyes which left Hadrian on guard. Narcissa then made a great show of fussing over him, and he privately wondered what she would think if she knew her actions mirrored an oaf’s like Hagrid’s. 

Finally, Snape cleared his throat. “Well, Potter, at least you haven’t gotten yourself killed before the start of the year. I’m sure his blasted bird will be more than happy to carry any letters he sends, Narcissa.” 

Hadrian rose a brow and Snape scowled. Narcissa laughed. “Severus tried to ignore Zilia.” Hadrian laughed. His eagle _hated_ being ignored. 

He said his goodbyes and followed his Head of House out of the Headmaster’s office. The rest of the school were just leaving the Great Hall and they caught up pretty soon with the rest of their House trickling into the dungeons. 

He spotted a familiar head of white-blonde hair and beelined for them, falling into step. “I’m telling you, he vanished!” he insisted. “Maybe it’s some special Boy-Who-Lived magic or something but Mother said that he was there one second and gone the next.”

Hadrian snickered. “I’m good, but not that good.” 

Draco jumped almost a foot in the air, spinning with wide eyes. “Hadrian!” he shouted, ignoring the upper years who shot them weird looks. The boy seemed to just about stop himself from flinging his arms around Hadrian’s neck. “Where- what-” 

Hadrian waved his hand. “I’ll tell you in there.” They waited for one of the new fifth-year prefects to give the password. 

Stepping into the Slytherin common room again felt like coming home. The fires roared in the fireplaces and there was a dim, green light coming from the window with Black Lake. The furniture seemed plusher than it had last year, or maybe it was just his imagination, but he was glad to be back in the first place he could call home. 

Their group, who’d by then all been alerted to Hadrian’s sudden appearance, made their way over to their claimed corner and settled themselves in as they did the year before. Hadrian caught Theodore’s eye and gave him a small but warm smile, ignoring the sudden weight in his chest when the hazel-eyed boy gave an equally warm one in return. Theodore sat to his left and Draco took the seat to his right. Daphne and Tracey curled up in a large armchair while Milicent and Blaise settled on the floor for a game of Exploding Snap.

They had to wait for Snape to give his customary ‘welcome’ speech to the new first years, who didn’t look particularly interesting. They all held a vague resemblance to a few of the upper years and even them, with their aristocratic cheekbones and cleft chins. Hadrian figured that if they were of any importance then Draco would be sure to let him know. 

“Okay, _now_ tell us. Where the hell did you go!” Draco exclaimed, before blushing a bright red when all eyes swung to him. “I mean...you never came out of the Floo. Mother was going out of her mind with worry and Father sent an owl to Minister Fudge asking for a search party to be arranged.” 

Something like pleasure curled in Hadrian’s gut knowing that he had the favour of such powerful people. He offered the blond a small smile, letting his magic curl up against the other boy’s. Beside him, he barely noticed Theodore’s narrowed eyes and suddenly tense form. 

“I have no idea what happened. I didn’t even manage to call out the Floo address before it activated.” 

Tracey frowned. “It takes a considerable amount of effort to tamper with the Floo network. They’re installed only by people with Masteries in Charms, Magical Theory, Arithmancy and Runes. Most people get Goblins to install them because they’re so good with that kind of stuff or outsource to Africa or Asia where there’s a greater focus on those kinds of magic. Britain doesn’t tend to focus on them much, for some reason, though I read somewhere that they used to be part of the curriculum…” 

Hadrian bit back a smile as they all exchanged exasperated looks with one another. Blaise hastened to change the subject, lest they be subjected to an hour’s long comparison of the education system across various wizarding societies (it wasn’t Tracey’s first time discussing such a subject). “Where did you end up, though?” 

“Knockturn Alley. Borgin and Burke’s, to be specific.” Everyone’s brows rose at that. 

“Father has been visiting it quite a lot recently. Something about a new Muggle Protection Act.” 

Theodore hummed and nodded. “Yes, my father as well. I suppose a lot of the old families will be taking measures to ensure that certain...artifacts aren’t discovered and confiscated.” Almost as an afterthought, Theo seemed to notice that he’d almost agreed with Draco of all people, and hasten to scowl at the blond. 

Four months ago, Hadrian would have teased the other boy about it. He would have asked some more about the act and his opinion of it and how it managed to get passed in the Wizengamot- why Theo thought it was stupid (because most of the acts passed nowadays Theo though to be utterly inane and illogical) and why they'd never needed it before then. 

He wanted to _talk_ to him, but he didn’t know-how. 

At the start of summer, he’d resolved himself to be indifferent to them all, Theo especially. Of all of them, Theo’s apparent silence had hurt the most and while he was well aware now that Dobby had been the intercepting his mail, and he’d written the other boy once to let him know that he was still alive and there had been a ‘minor complication with the muggles’, Hadrian wasn’t quite sure how to bridge the gap he’d made. 

The conversation stuttered to a halt and Hadrian cleared his throat, turning to Millicent to explain the new Act. She did so gladly, with frequent interruptions from Draco, and they whiled away the hours. Soon enough, a prefect shooed them off to bed. The second-year boy’s dorm was just the same as it had been last year, and his centre-bed was the only one without a trunk on it. Sighing, he set to unpacking before he changed for bed. 

Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle were all in bed already- Blaise because he was an absolute diva without his eight hours and the other two--Hadrian didn’t care to learn. Draco was in the bathroom taking a thousand years as usual, which left just him and Theo. 

He turned to the other boy, and when Theo looked back at him, he imagined that he could see his apprehension. Should he apologise? Smile? Turn his back? Pretend like this gulf, this ocean of sudden awkwardness wasn’t there? Was it all in his head? Did Theo not feel it too? 

The door to the bathroom opened and Draco came out, all pale and bundled in a thick, fluffy nightgown which almost swallowed him. He paused, and Hadrian forced a smile onto his face, bid the room a good night and crawled into his bed, drawing the curtains around him. 

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, and he ended up waking a full two hours before his wand alarm went off. He went about his morning ablutions, showering in the big, empty bathroom, applying Sleakeazy’s Hair Potion (which he only found out that summer had been invented by his grandfather) and adjusting his contacts when they went in awkwardly. Though he’d taken his time, when he finished he still had half an hour until breakfast would be served and nobody in his dorm had woken up yet. 

Theodore was normally an early riser, and he didn’t want to risk any awkward encounters, so he set off for the library. What Narcissa had said about Sally-Anne perhaps being from a wizarding family intrigued him, so he resolved to start searching. Maybe then he could learn a thing or two about his own parents beyond the fact that his father had died trying to defend them and his mother had willingly given her life for him. 

Unsurprisingly, the library was deserted when he entered and Madam Pince wasn’t at the front desk so he quickly made his way over to one of the dustiest corners. Nestled in the back, behind the History of Magic textbooks and adjacent to the Muggle Studies texts (oh the _irony_ ) was the Hogwarts Archives. 

He pulled a few books out at random, flicking through it. As he flicked through a yearbook, he noticed a boy with a bush of hair frizzy and untamed enough to rival Granger’s. He looked sullen, shaking his head as he looked away from the camera. Something glistened on his face, and Hadrian didn’t realise until the boy swiped at his cheeks that they were tears. 

Underneath the picture was a caption which read: _Rubeus Hagrid; expelled in June 1943_.

To say that he was shocked was an understatement. Hagrid had been expelled? What had it been for? The yearbook didn’t have any other information, but there had to be other records, something that explained it. The half-giant had wept when he’d been forced to give up a baby dragon and had been near-inconsolable when some cross-breeding project had ended with all the creatures dying. 

He continued flicking through the yearbook, peering at the older, more refined faces of his peers. He paused on a page of accolades. There weren’t many, though the Headmaster of the time- Armondo Dippet- seemed particularly fond of awarding students for consistently perfect attire. In fact, of the ten awarded for that year, only two weren’t for ‘being perfectly and respectfully attired for the entirety of the air and upholding Hogwarts’ long-standing legacy of producing wizards and witches of the highest calibre’. 

One was a Joseph Sayre who’d gotten an award for _‘services to the school_ ’ and the other was one Tom Riddle for the same thing. The first- a Ravenclaw by the colour of his tie- was a slightly stocky boy with riotous curls and a bright grin. Tom Riddle was...well, he was handsome, and not just in the way that so many Hogwarts students were. Yes, he had a strong and sharp jawline, his nose was sharp and a curious blend of Greek and Roman, and his lips were full, though erred on the thin side. But there was something in the way he smiled, pictured self shaking Dippet’s hand with confidence and hidden secrecy. Hadrian could practically taste the boy’s magic, which was absurd considering it was a dusty old photograph that had sat in an even dustier part of a library for nearly half-a-century. 

“Potter?” He looked up, startled. “I haven’t seen you up here so early before. I’m Terry. Terry Boot.” 

He stared at the outstretched hand, eyes flicking between it and the boy’s bright eyes. He smiled stiffly and shook the boy’s hand. “Yes, well, it’s always best to be up early on the first day. Precedent and all.” 

Boot nodded, but his eyes seemed glued to the books on the desk. “Interesting reading material. I had a cousin once who catalogued the archives in his third-year but that was ages ago. I doubt anyone’s been through these in at least a decade. What’re you looking for? Maybe I can help?” 

Hadrian felt a muscle near his eye twitch. 

“Well, nothing specifically. I wasn’t aware that Hogwarts did yearbooks.” He watched Boot nod enthusiastically, sitting across him as he pulled one of the books closer to him. His voice was slightly muffled when he responded. 

“Yes, well, it’s only for the fifth and seventh years and then anyone who gets an award. Then there’s the Quidditch teams and the top ten students of the graduating year or anyone who’s offered an apprenticeship and leaves early. They used to have a whole team dedicated to putting it together and designing it before- well, before.” 

Hadrian hummed, studying the other boy. He’d noticed him last year, but only barely. The end-of-year rankings had caused quite the tizzy amongst the school. Ravenclaws, obviously, were known to dominate the top spots. Slytherins, though they didn’t tend to fail, relied more on the connections they created and politics to get them jobs post-Hogwarts, Gryffindors were too busy creating memories they’d forevermore be striving to recreate. Hufflepuff generally did well, their hard work and dedication translating well in the exams. In fact, they had a tendency of edging out the Ravenclaws who got too lost in their own research and ended up writing about other things than they needed to in the exams. 

Last year’s rankings had Hadrian in top spot overall, Granger not too far behind with Theodore, Tracey, Boot, Draco and then Macmillan, Li and Goldstein. It was the first time in close to five decades since Slytherin had so many in the top ten, and from what he’d hear, the Weasley twins had made quite some money off it. 

It was only in passing that Hadrian noticed Boot (because it was always good to keep an eye on the competition). He was well-liked enough, amiable and cheery but almost fanatically studious. It didn’t surprise him that the boy got up earlier than the rest of the castle to come to the library. 

They stayed there in the library until his wand rang with an alarm, alerting him to the start of breakfast. Boot was surprisingly well-versed on Wizarding genealogy, apparently it had been so some project on hereditary magicks. 

“It’s really very fascinating,” the Ravenclaw said as they waited for the staircase to finish moving. “Certain magicks are passed down literally through the blood. Necromancy, affinity for potions, duelling, even _flying._ Did you know that your great-great uncle's _wife_ Elias Potter nee Grimstone made the Oakshaft 79 which is quite renowned for its ability to travel long distances. Ever since, the Potter’s have been famous for their flying ability. It appears that when she married in, her own _magicks_ merged with Potter family ones too! Imagine-”

“Hadrian!”

There were a group of Slytherins walking towards him, and he summoned a smile, avoiding Theodore’s narrowed eyes. “Draco, guys, this is Terry Boot.” 

Boot straightened, though he was still smiling. “Well met, everyone.” Hadrian hid his surprise, but his smile turned a tad more genuine. Blaise grumbled something about eating which made them all laugh and they turned to the Great Hall. Hadrian bid Boot goodbye, promising to find some time to continue their conversation. 

“You know,” Blaise started after he’d finished his third cup of tea. “You never did tell us how you got here last night. The train left and you were stuck in London.” It wasn’t a question, and as he glanced at the other boy’s cat-like eyes, he prepared to give a vague non-answer but Tracey cut in. 

“Please, no mind-games. It’s too early for that.” 

He sighed. “ _Fine_. I took the Knight Bus.”

Various exclaims of disgust arose around him until Snape, who’d been handing the first years their schedules, shot them a stern look. “Mother will be furious when she finds out!” Draco hissed. Hadrian didn't bother to tell the blond that his mother was already aware.

Blaise laughed. “No, Draco. You said it wrong. It’s _‘my Mother will hear about this!’_ ” Everyone snickered at that and Draco turned an impressive shade of red. It was easy to forget sometimes that while they enjoyed each other’s presence, they stuck together primarily for selfish reasons and not a single one of them would pass up the opportunity to get something on the other. Draco’s scowl deepened when he saw Theodore laughing, the latter sneering rather impressively. Hadrian wondered what happened between the two of them to create such intense dislike, but resolved that it wasn’t his problem. 

This year, he had more important things to deal with. Not only had Narcissa arranged for him to continue meeting with Higgs and Pucey but he also had the research project into Sally-Anne’s lineage (which he’d probably rope Boot into helping with; the more hands the less work for him), stay on top of his schoolwork, navigate the political fields of his House and watch himself around Dumbledore. Oh, and research about Yule if he had any plans to go back for the holidays. 

Snape finally got round to handing their timetables out and Theodore groaned from beside him. “Charms first,” he lamented, pushing his plate away. “Brilliant.” Hadrian only smirked, though he hid it in his mug. 

While they all did pretty well in class there was a subject that each of them found more difficult than the others. For Theodore and Tracey who were brilliant when it came to theory, Charms tended to be a bit too straightforward for them to grasp immediately. It wasn’t anything like Finnegan's pyrotechnics but enough to make them scowl at Blaise and Daphne who always seemed to execute flawless charms on the second go. 

(Nobody was as brilliant as Hadrian when it came to spell-casting though, so he hardly counted)

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Theo suppressed a scowl as they left the potions classroom and headed for their common room. They had lunch now but figured they might as well swap out their books for their evening ones. Professor Snape, like Flitwick and Sprout, had set them review questions for their first lesson back and while they hadn’t been especially hard, he quite doubted whether he’d gotten the last question right. He knew lobelia was a sedative but he hadn’t studied much more than that. 

Of course, _Malfoy_ was rejoicing over his answers from where he walked practically glued to Hadrian’s side. Could the blond be more obvious? Once he’d settled slightly over worrying about the other boy, Malfoy had been ever so eager to regale them all with stories of he and Hadrian’s time spent together over the summer. Apparently, Lady Malfoy had taken it upon herself to lead Hadrian in the Olde Ways and introduce him to high society, which was good for Hadrian but did nothing to stop the blood from boiling in Theo’s veins.

It seemed like everything he’d dreaded was coming to fruition. Hadrian had replaced him- and with Malfoy of all people. Theo shouldn’t be surprised, really. It was always destined to happen. Malfoy had the money and the power and the father and mother who cared enough to woo his year-mates for him. All Theo had was a crumbling estate and a father who only remembered his son when he needed him to smile and be polite to potential money-givers. 

He’d been so sure that it wouldn’t happen, though. Not after Hadrian found him once he’d been released from the infirmary, dragged him through the school and into an abandoned classroom, shoved him against the wall and threatened him with torture if he ever deigned to pull a stunt like the one he had during the gauntlets (read: sacrifice himself so that Hadrian could go forth and vanquish a Dark Lord like he was so good at). 

But apparently, Malfoy was more cunning than any of them had given him credit for. Over a few weeks ( _weeks!_ ) he’d managed to worm his way closer to Hadrian. 

This wouldn’t normally be a problem. Theo was content to let Hadrian be friends with whomever he wished. But now...things were different. 

He- Hadrian- had been calling him _Theodore_ again, and there was an awkwardness between the two of them that he just didn’t know how to get over. He’d felt it first when he’d finally gotten an owl from him a few weeks ago; apparently it would have been conspicuous for an owl to be flying around muggle London (why, Theo had no idea. Was it just an excuse not to write?). The letter had been succinct and impersonal, responding to each of Theo’s points (from each of the eight letters sent) but with no additions or sense of enjoyment. 

Not seeing him on the Express had only made the irrational thoughts bolder (was he avoiding their compartment because of him? Had Malfoy convinced him to transfer to Beauxbatons? Or Durmstrang? Had he decided to be homeschooled instead?) and-- well, he was an all-around mess, really. 

“Control yourself, Nott,” Daphne murmured from beside him. He scowled at her before wiping the look from his face. As much as he didn’t like to hear it, she was right. It didn’t do to show one's cards too plainly. 

“Come _on_ Draco,” he heard Hadrian call from the steps up to the boy’s dormitory. They were waiting to go to the Great Hall for lunch. “You can finish preening after we’ve eaten.” 

The fondness was clear in Hadrian’s tone and it was all Theo could do not to curse anything. 

His irritation persisted for the entire week. 

They had their third defence class on Thursday morning which was just as useless as the other two had been. Millicent seemed equally as captured by their new (and just as, if not more, useless) Defense professor Gilderoy Lockhart as all the Gryffindors were, sighing and giggling every time the idiot flashed his perfect, straight-toothed smile. 

It was nauseating. 

They were supposed to be learning about how to deal with banshees but instead the man had various Gryffindors (and Blaise because...Blaise) re-enacting heroic feats from _Break with a Banshee_ , a most ridiculous account of how the man had single-handedly banished the Bandon Banshee in Ireland- about as believable as Malfoy’s claim to having played a hundred games of Quidditch with Hadrian that summer. Theo knew that Hadrian liked the sport, but it was more of a tolerance than anything else. Which just goes to show how much _Malfoy_ knows. 

The class ended with Lockhart’s usual flourish and flair, the tables and chairs trembling from the after-effects of some spell gone awry. They had Charms next and Theo hadn’t been particularly satisfied with his essay but Hadrian had been off having etiquette lessons with Pucey and Higgs and Theo wasn’t about to spend any more time in Malfoy’s presence than he had to. He’d gone off to the library with Tracey and Daphne where they’d spent the time talking idly until curfew. 

The dynamics of their group were shifting, and it didn’t just have to do with Malfoy. 

As expected, the upper years had stayed out of their power disputes, allowing them to vie for the top spot. His father had let him know in passing one evening that second-years had no such protection. As heirs they had some power, but that worked both for and against them; in some cases, others wouldn’t want to risk making enemies out of their Houses but others would see it as an opportunity to elevate themselves. The Snake Pit was an unforgiving place, and while they usually tried to keep their spells on the lighter end of grey, not everyone had the same compunctions about getting caught. 

Hadrian, more than any of them, was being targeted. 

One day when he’d been rushing off to Quidditch practice he’d not been quick enough to block a jelly-legs jinx. He’d wobbled for a second or two- not very long but long enough for others to notice and start laughing- until cancelling it and responding with a rather more nasty hex. 

Wilkes spent that night in the infirmary. 

The other boy hid his anger and frustration well (those classes with Pucey and Higgs seemed to be paying off) but Theo knew him. He could tell when Hadrian was a spell away from snapping and unleashing a terrifying amount of raw power on the all. His magic flared up, tall and dark, swelling to fill the room until it became almost impossible to take a breath without choking.

A few months ago, he would have taken a firm hold of Hadrian’s arm and towed him away. He would have distracted him with news of the latest book on Time magic he’d read while he defended the underrated magic from a laughing and slowly-relaxing Hadrian. He would’ve done what a closest friend should do but he didn’t know how to anymore. 

They were on their way to the common room after dinner one evening and they’d all been in a rather foul mood. Tracey had barely stopped Hadrian from drinking the pumpkin juice which had been spiked with a potion that made your hair fall out. It was a more sinister variation of the spell as only a specifically brewed antidote taken with a bezoar could cancel its effects, both of which were notoriously hard to brew and ridiculously expensive. 

Their common room was quite far removed from the rest of the castle, deeper than any of the other students knew it to be with a fair share of corridors branching out nearby. It made the perfect place for an ambush. 

Malfoy had- as usual- been ranting about the audacity of the upper years’ willingness to risk the wrath of House Malfoy for some petty jokes when the first bolt of spell-light light lit the corridor. Theo hardly had to think before he had his own wand in hand, up and ready to cast. Tracey had shrieked but Daphne had smacked the stack of books in her hand to the ground, teal eyes narrowed on the surrounding darkness. 

“Show yourself!” Malfoy shouted, and Theo would have rolled his eyes if it hadn’t been a stupid thing to do. 

Slowly, dark shapes detached themselves from the darkness, stepping into the light that the torches on the wall cast. Theo recognised the girl instantly. Her features all seemed to clash, from her beautiful copper-blonde locks and pudgy frame to her thick, bushy eyebrows above hawkish eyes and a small, pursed mouth. Her power lay not in her looks, however. She was the niece of the notorious Lord Pyrites, a man with almost as much status and money as the Malfoy’s but half of the bad press. He’d been a member of the neutral factions of the Wizengamot for ages and seemed to be one of the few truly neutral ones; he’d endorsed as many of Dumbledore’s bills as he had Malfoy’s. 

Theo knew that his father had been trying for ages to get the man to endorse one of his experiments. He’d spent the entire summer either in his lab perfecting some prototype or attending functions where he tried to charm people out of their money. The night before he’d left for the platform, they’d had their customary pre-Hogwarts dinner where Estevan had revealed that Lord Pyrites was a week away from signing a contract and when that happened they’d be going to Berlin for Yule. 

The girl- Callista Hadleigh- was flanked on either side by Wilkes and a sixth-year Suzette Blackeley. If it came to a duel then they could probably hold the three upper years off, but Millicent and Blaise had gone to the library in search of books with detection spells which left them five to three. 

“Well,” Hadleigh started in that scratchy, high-pitched voice of hers, “if it isn’t the baby snakes. Did your mummies ever tell you it’s dangerous at night?” 

Daphne snorted, rolling her eyes though her wand never wavered. Blackeley shot off a spell, a _Furnuculus_ which was easy for Daphne to sidestep and return in kind, though hers managed to at least graze the other girl. It tore the arm of the sixth year's robe and Theo watched with mild fascination and pleasure as her arm erupted in large, pus-filled boils. 

He used the distraction of the upper years to edge closer to Hadrian, elbowing Malfoy out of the way. He didn’t look to see what either boy’s reaction to that would be because Hadleigh had caught sight of him and smiled. Her small lips parted to reveal sharp teeth. 

“Oh, Nott, what a surprise. Why don’t you be a good boy and step aside, hm? I’m sure daddy dearest wouldn’t want you getting on the wrong side of me.” 

Theo clenched his jaw but didn’t budge. Hadleigh was right- Estevan would be absolutely furious if his months of courting Lord Pyrites was thrown away all because he stood up to the man’s niece. Theo knew the girl would convince her uncle not to invest; partly because she was wretched like that and partly because he’d do the same thing- it was the Slytherin way. 

Still, he was a Nott and he’d pledged himself to Hadrian. It didn’t matter that they currently weren’t speaking or that he risked his father’s wrath come Yule. 

Hadleigh looked surprised, but it morphed quickly enough into an expression of pleasure. “Ohh,” she cooed, brandishing her wand. “I’m certain Uncle Jacob will be _delighted_ to hear of this in the morning.” 

There wasn’t any time to talk after that. Spell light bounced off the stone walls as the duel properly began. Wilkes, as usual, was targeting Hadrian, but the other boy looked to be holding his own well enough. Tracey and Daphne faced off against Blackeley whose spells were getting steadily more dark while Malfoy did...well, nothing effective. 

Theo dodged a lime green hex- sea urchin hex if the wand movement was anything to go by- but a pained shout behind him told him that Malfoy wasn’t so lucky. 

The action seemed to freeze for a second as they all looked to the blond. There were bright green spikes sprouting all over his arms and steadily making its way up his neck. Malfoy looked horrified, grey eyes wide and mouth hanging agape. “M...My father will hear about this ou worthless little slug!” he screamed, slashing his wand before calling the slug-vomiting hex. Hadleigh laughed and sidestepped it. 

Theo turned then to look at Hadrian just as the other boy did the same. Their eyes met and, for the first time that week, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. He cocked his head, nodding subtly at Malfoy, and Hadrian nodded. A frisson of glee ran through him then, and something of it must have shown on his face because Hadrian was grinning back, sharp and toothy. 

They moved at the same time. Theo thrust his hand out, pushing Malfoy into the wall just as Hadleigh cast _Tentaclifors_. Malfoy called out and swore at him but he wasn’t paying any more attention to the annoying blond. Daphne and Tracey had done well against Blackeley, who was clutching her mouth where two white teeth poked out. She heaved suddenly and spat a giant slug at her feet where her toenails had burst through her shoes and curled against the floor. The two of them retreated to where he was and he saw that they weren’t totally unscathed themselves. Daphne’s nose was four times too big and her legs still trembled with the effects of a jelly-legs jinx Tracey looked mostly shaken, though she sported a few bald patches and had to undo a leg-locker. 

Collectively, they turned to watch Hadrian. 

It appeared that he’d mostly been toying with Wilkes before because it took no more than a calmly intoned _Petrificus Totalus_ to put the boy out of of the fight. Hadleigh had looked intent on cursing Theo ten ways to Sunday but but Hadrian caught her attention with a well-placed _Flipendo_. 

The fifth-year girl crashed into the wall, her head cracking audibly against the stone. Still, she got up after a dazed moment or two, even if she did stumble a few times. “You worthless little mudblood,” she spat/slurred, planting a hand on the wall to steady her as she swayed. Theo twitched, raising his wand. Hadrian just tsked, and Theo could see that small, terrifying smile of his getting broader. 

“Well, I am gentleman enough to excuse such words directed in my direction. Kicked dogs to try to bite back. But-” and he twirled his pale wand, playing with it between his fingers. “I cannot allow threats to my friends to go unpunished. Especially to someone so dear.” 

Theo hardly saw Hadrian move but he did hear Hadleigh’s surprise squawk. She clutched at her head where two horns were rapidly growing before slumping over as she was hit with a _Petrificus Totalus_ and- seemingly as an afterthought- a _Calvorio_. “And I do _so_ hate that word.” 

In the sudden silence, Theo was the one to break it with raucous laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...hi guys. I'm so terribly sorry for the long wait but...I've been in a really tough spot lately and I've had absolutely no motivation to write. I wrote about ten pages last week and deleted it all because it was- quite frankly- shit. These twenty pages were produced in the last 48 hours which really just goes to show that I only needed time and to wait. Essentially, I don't think I can stick to any kind of strict updating schedule, but I'll do my best to give you guys a chapter at the very least once a fortnight. 
> 
> Now all of that is out of the way, what did you guys think? Not terribly impressive but..something I guess. Let me hear your thoughts in the comments!


	19. Surveying the Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, a bit more timely here. I'll let you enjoy the chapter and see you at the bottom!

_When we mean to build,  
we first survey the plot  
\- Henry IV, Lord Bardolph to Hastings _

Severus muttered angrily to himself as he made his way through the corridors, sneering at the dullards that roamed aimlessly. A group of fifth-year Slytherins snickered at the Hufflepuffs that scattered, though it quickly died down at a pointed glare from him. He didn’t make a habit of reprimanding his Snakes- they got more than their fair share from the rest of the Professors- but it was good to know the effect he had on students was universal. 

He bit out the password, another ridiculous muggle confectionary that he had no doubt would be ridiculously sweet, before alighting onto the moving steps. The ride up could not have taken any more than twenty seconds, but he was irritable and restless. He’d overseen no less than three back-to-back detentions yesterday and had been forced to place a particularly finicky brew under a stasis charm when he’d received the Headmaster’s summons. If he weren’t back in half-an-hour then he’d have to start all over again, and it had already taken a week to reach the stage it was at. 

Doubtless he’d have to do so anyway. The Headmaster took that long to say his first, vague and useless riddle and Severus knew from a decade of experience that it wouldn’t be another hour until he’d find out what the man _really_ wanted, and even then it wouldn’t be clear. 

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, breezing in and transfiguring the chair before the desk before sitting- somewhat petulantly, but he had all rights damnit- and crossing his arms. 

“Severus, my boy! Lemon drop?” 

Severus scowled. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? Miss Hadleigh is in dire need of the potion I am brewing and it spoils in twenty minutes.” 

The old man chuckled. “Yes, yes...ironic, considering the caster. How is young Harry doing? Any more problems with his Housemates?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Potter is an impertinent brat,” he bit out, and if it lacked his signature disdain...well, he was simply tired, is all. “But he is fine. None of the other professors have alerted me to a drop in grades save for Lockhart who seems unimpressed that Potter is unimpressed.” 

Albus hummed, and Severus could tell that whatever he’d been called in for was of quite some significance. “What did you call me here for?” 

“There is talk amongst certain circles that Harry will be making his debut as the Black Heir and ward of House Malfoy this Yule.” His occlumency shields strengthened as the man fixed bright blue eyes on him. 

“I don’t know if he had any plans but it seems reasonable enough. He has forged quite the bond with Narcissa Malfoy once he was informed of their relation.” 

“Severus, it’s bad enough that Harry has surrounded himself with the scions of Dark families but he cannot be consorting with them so intimately outside of Hogwarts as well. The children are impressionable and are not yet beyond saving, but Harry cannot be interacting with the very wizards who served the man that killed his parents.” Albus’ voice was grave, as serious as it had been during the War. 

Severus sighed. He’d known for months that this conversation would need to be had, but he’d figured they’d had at least until late November. The incident with Hadrian getting lost in Floo tipped off the old man to Hadrian's budding relationship with Narcissa, even more so when Lucius had all but demanded that Fudge put together a search party if the boy wasn’t found by the end of the Feast. 

“Hadrian is too smart to allow himself to be manipulated, Albus. He’s well aware of who these people are.” 

Albus levelled him with a weighty stare. “I know many incredibly smart young men who were seduced by silver tongues and pretty words.” Severus turned his head away, fighting the dichotomy of pride and shame that washed over him. Where was this praise when he was a boy? Where was this acknowledgement when he’d been young and impressionable and starving for it?

He shook his head, shoving those thoughts behind impenetrable walls. “You are forgetting, Albus, that Hadrian was not Sorted into Gryffindor. I have no doubt that he has apprised himself of his peers’ families and political leanings. At the very least, he will not allow himself to be manipulated.”

Albus watched him silently for a while, unblinking. Then, like flicking a switch, he beamed. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day you praised a Potter, my boy.” 

Severus reflexively scowled before sniffing. “Yes, well, Hadrian may be a Potter in name and blood but he is a Snake at heart.” 

The twinkle in the Headmaster’s gaze dimmed. “Yes, it appears he is.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

“See, the last record of any Perks that Hogwarts has was Anne Perks, Hufflepuff, who attended from 1929 to 36. She had two older siblings, I’ve seen it- hold on…” Terry rummaged through the books before smiling and holding one up. “Got it...look! Everette Perks and Lilliana Perks.” He turned the book around so the other boy could see it. 

Hadrian’s green eyes seemed to be studying the moving pictures intensely, tracking the laughing girl and grinning boy. Like Anne Perks, they all had large blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and though their hair seemed to be more brown than blonde, it shone and glimmered even in the photo. Everett had been in Gryffindor and Lilliana had been in Ravenclaw. It was odd for three siblings to all be in different Houses but Terry knew that the House divides hadn’t been so prevalent then. 

Hadrian nodded before looking at him, and he gifted him with a small smile. “You’ve been a big help, Terry,” the other boy said, and the sincerity of his words made a flush rise to his cheeks. Terry dropped at least two books as he fumbled for a way to respond without making a fool of himself. 

“Yes, well, we still have no clue what happened after Hogwarts. Anne graduated over half-a-decade ago. That would be...at least two generations before Sally-Anne, unless they were up in age when she was born.” 

He paused, thinking. In 1980, Anne would have only been 62 and considering how much longer wixen lived in comparison to muggles, was it inconceivable for her to be Sally-Anne’s mother? Perhaps the Ministry had a record of that they could owl and ask for. But...Terry was pretty sure he’d read a Healer’s paper not too long ago detailing the complications modern witches were facing when it came to conception and delivery- Anne probably constituted as ‘modern’ so did that affect the chance of her having a child at such an age? Everyone knew that Dorea and Charlus Potter had conceived James Potter uncannily late, so there _were_ always exceptions but then there would have been _some_ news or scandal surrounding it and he’d not read anything-

“Terry!” Terry blinked, refocusing his gaze on Hadrian who was waving a hand in his face and smiling. Terry glanced around and noticed that they’d been joined by Hadrian’s friends- Theodore Nott, Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. When had they gotten there? “Where did you go? You started muttering and then... _this_.” Hadrian waved his hand to the desk, and it was only when Terry looked down that he noticed what had happened. 

His cheeks flamed and he coughed to try and hide his nerves. There were words and arrows scrawled all over a piece of parchment, certain words like ‘fertility’ and ‘records’ and even ‘Dorea Potter’ underlined or circled. It wasn’t the first time he’d completely zoned out. It was a rather frequent occurrence, especially when he got excited about a new research project. His father was exactly the same and he and his mother had been teaching and helping him his whole life to try and temper or control it. 

Terry supposed that it helped, to an extent. He would retreat into his mind all the time when he was younger (he’d even done it the first time he’d ridden a broom when he was six and promptly fallen all ten feet into his mother’s azaleas) at the merest hint of something to look up and learn more about but the exercises he’d been doing since he was nine helped make it far less frequent. 

Yet here he was in front of possibly the most popular person in their year, if not the whole school, and his friends with nonsensical scribbles and a vacant gaze. “I’m sorry,” he rushed to say, gathering his things. He had his chin pinned to his chest like someone had cast a Stickfast hex. “I...it happens sometimes and I was just...I’ll-” 

Hadrian laughed, but it was light, and Terry felt something _warm_ brush him (which should have been impossible because nobody was stood close enough to touch him). “Don’t worry about it. It’s actually pretty cool. Were you thinking about the possibility of Anne being Sally-Anne’s mother?” 

Terry felt a wave of relief rush through him, and he smiled shakily at the other boy. He adjusted his glasses. “Yes. It’s unlikely but Dorea Potter wasn’t the youngest when she had your father and I was wondering if the same couldn’t be said for Anne. There’s been quite a bit of research conducted lately into the phenomenon of declining fertility amongst wixen so it might be worthwhile to check-” 

“Yes, well,” cut in Greengrass rather abruptly. She held her nose in the air while she looked down on the table-full of dusty books. “As fascinating as this is, shall we make our way to the Great Hall? Breakfast started ten minutes ago.” 

Hadrian rolled his eyes but smiled anyway, and as Terry watched him banter with his friends, he supposed he could understand why the fifth-years of his House were talking about attempting to court him. He was rather pleasant to be around. 

“What!”

Terry jumped, eyes wide as he stared at the other boy who’d whirled around with his green eyes equally as wide. 

“Nothing--I mean- I...what?” Terry looked to Hadrian’s friends who were all looking at the dark-haired boy weirdly. Nott stepped forward and placed a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. 

“Nothing, Boot. We’re going to the Great Hall.” The other boy shot him a look that was some mix of suspicious and dismissive but Terry shrugged and decided that he had enough things to be thinking about. He waved his wand and cast the charm which would return the books to their rightful place. 

On the way down to the Hall, Davis interrogated him on the spell he’d used and its variations which was more pleasant than he could have imagined talking to a Slytherin could be (Hadrian didn’t count because while he was Slytherin he was also the Boy-Who-Lived and rules just generally didn’t apply to him). 

“Terry,” Hadrian called, just as they moved to part ways in the Hall. Terry paused, looking back at him. He could already see the interest in his fellow Ravenclaws and knew Padma wouldn’t let him rest until he told her everything. Hadrian was smiling at him again. “Why don’t you join us in the library tonight after dinner? We’re reviewing Charms and you’re clearly very good at them.” 

It took a moment for Terry to wrangle his tongue under control. “I- well, yeah, of course. I’ll be there.” 

“Brilliant. Bring your friends along too. I heard Goldstein’s quite good at Transfiguration.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

“Now, feast your eyes upon these wondrous beasts!” 

Lockhart removed the cover to reveal a large cage which practically vibrated. There was a hum of chatter as the things gnashed their teeth and shook the bars of the cage. Hadrian frowned as he watched them, noticed how it seemed that all the creatures with red wings were sitting docile in the centre while the others- whose wings ranged from green to blue to the most offensive shade of orange- attempted to pull the cage apart. 

“Cornish Pixies?” exclaimed Granger incredulously from the Gryffindor side of the classroom. Her hero-worship of the idiot seemed to soften for a moment as she turned to him with inquisitive eyes and a slight frown, but it cleared easily enough. 

“Why _yes_ , Miss Granger! Fifteen points to Gryffindor! Now,” and he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “you’re all going to try a hand at corralling these troublesome things while I...observe and give you pointers. Er...yes, Mr Potter?” 

Hadrian smiled. “Well, I’m sure that would be a very enlightening lesson for us all, Professor, but surely you don’t mean to use _those_ pixies?” 

“Well, unless you've got some hidden in your pockets then I don’t see why we wouldn’t be.” The man laughed and the Gryffindor girls tittered. “This is _perfectly_ safe and of course I have dealt with far worse in my time- as you all should know by now if you’ve been keeping up with your reading-”

“Some of those pixies are pregnant, Professor. I believe it goes against a few Creature Laws to endanger a future generation of pixies without just reason.”

“It’s true,” added Draco, and everyone’s gaze shifted to him. He didn’t look at any of them, save for a sly glance at Hadrian, and chose to clean his nails instead. “Father told me about a man convicted of needlessly hunting Jobberknolls just because he couldn’t remember the sound it made. He got five years in Azkaban for that but then the Aurors found some other stuff and he died there.” 

Lockhart went very pale at that, the cloth trembling in his hands, before he cleared his throat and cast a wary look at the pixies who still rattled at their cage. “Right, well, good spot, Mr Potter! I see now why you became a seeker at such a tender age. Five points to Slytherin for...your keen eye. Since we can’t have any of that, we’ll review my fifth book which is entitled what, Mr Finnegan?” 

The class collectively groaned, and Hadrian almost wished he’d never said anything in the first place. 

There was the familiar toll of the bell and Hadrian near-enough jumped out of his seat in his haste to escape the room. Even Blaise, for all his Thespian antics, had grown bored of Lockhart’s tales. They would be more impressive if they were real but they weren’t even _feasible_! 

They flooded into the packed halls and made their way towards the Great Hall but stopped abruptly when they heard his name called. He turned, puzzled, to see a tall, older Ravenclaw making his way over. He was blonde and had a faceful of freckles that, paired with the bright, beaming smile, made him look kind. Hadrian looked hesitantly at Theo but the boy was glaring at the newcomer and the others in his group seemed to have settled into similar dispositions. 

“Hadrian, I was wondering if I could speak to you?” The boy looked between him and his fellow Housemates, his smile dimming slightly and his brows warbling. 

“Hurry up and say what you need to, Snyde. We’ve got a dinner to eat sometime today,” sneered Draco. Hadrian was shocked at the amount of ice in the boy’s voice, but shrugged it off. 

The Ravenclaw- Snyde- cleared his throat and shifted where he stood before sending him a smile again and reaching into his robes. He withdrew a few plumes before handing them over. “I overheard Terry talking about how often he spills the inkpot when you guys study and- these were going cheap in Scrivenshaft’s. They’re self-inking.” 

Hadrian rose a brow as he looked over the quills. This wasn’t the first unexpected gift he’d gotten in the past week from some random Ravenclaw he’d never even seen before. He considered briefly whether this could be the thing he’d heard Terry mention the other day- courting- but dismissed it outright. There was no way anyone would send him _quills_ , sweets and spare bits of parchment as courting gifts- and certainly not for _him_. 

The quills were undoubtedly nice, not half as haggard and worn as his already were. Hadrian hated how unsightly quills became after their fourth use and had resolved to find some way to sneak a pen into Hogwarts- at the very least a fountain one. 

These though, from what he could feel of them, would remain erect and soft for a few weeks, maybe a month if he was extra careful. 

“Cheap indeed,” Draco sniffed, snathing one of the quills away and looking disdainfully at the nib. “I’m sure Terry mentioned how much writing Hadrian does and any wizard worth their wand knows that silver is always better than nickel.” Hadrian watched Draco pin the older boy with an icy look, one which he hadn’t thought the blond capable of. Draco had always seemed a little softer than the rest of them, quicker to anger and rile and easiest to manipulate. It was odd to see him sparring with an older student. Good, fresh, but odd. 

Snyde’s cheeks were pink and he opened and closed his mouth several times without saying anything. Hadrian decided to have pity on him. “Thank you, Snyde. I’ll put these to good use” 

“Oh,” the boy exhaled, and a shaky smile rose to his face. “Thank goodness. I mean, I- I-” he coughed, “I should let you guys get to dinner. I’ll talk to you some other time, Hadrian.” He didn’t wait for any farewells before he turned on his heel and practically fled. 

Draco didn’t hide his snort. 

“That was interesting,” Blaise quipped, his grin sharp and his eyes sparkling. 

“Yes, well,” sniffed Daphne, “I heard Padma’s going to be at the study session tonight and I know she’s never gotten less than 85% on a Transfig essay.” 

“Nor has Tracey,” Blaise pointed out with a raised brow. Millicent snickered. 

“Yes, well, Padma won’t charge Daphne or have her owe her a boon for copying and _then_ get called out for copying because half of the words and theories are eons above our level.” She and Blaise broke out into snickers while Daphne scowled and Tracey smirked, shrugging a shoulder and adjusting her glasses. 

“You guys go ahead. Hadrian and I need to talk about something.” Hadrian frowned and noticed the others’ puzzled looks too but they didn’t question it. Theo’s grip was tight on his arm as he towed him into a shady corner in the corridor. “Hadrian,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “You can’t let them keep _doing_ that.” 

Hadrian frowned. “I don’t see that anyone’s done anything wrong,” he said slowly, because Theo’s eyes were harder than Hadrian had ever seen them and he’d never seen the other boy so stern. 

“You’ve been taking etiquette lessons so you should _know_ they were doing something wrong,” the hazel-eyed boy retorted, lips pressed into a thin line. Hadrian felt his eye twitch even as he willed the blood away from his burning cheeks, allowing a small amount of his magic to slip free from his tight control. In return, Theo flinched slightly and ducked his head, but his lips were still pressed into a firm line. 

Neither of them had a chance to say anything next, though, because there was a sudden flash that momentarily blinded them both. Hadrian blinked spots from his eyes as he turned to see a small, beaming boy with hair that couldn’t decide whether it was brown or blond. In his hands, he clutched a huge, old-fashioned camera which hung around his neck. 

“Hi!” the boy squeaked, waving one hand frantically. “I’m- I’m Colin Creevey. I’m in Gryffindor and, well, I- _you’re Harry Potter!_ ” He was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His smile hadn’t dimmed any, and Hadrian found the corners of his lips tipping up even as Theo’s lip curled into a sneer. 

“I suppose they didn’t have manners where they reared you, Creevey,” the pureblood sniffed, his disgust plain in his eyes. The boy didn’t take much note of it though, his eyes wide and imploring as he stared up at Hadrian. The camera in his hands made a hissing noise before unceremoniously spitting out a picture which Creevey quickly pulled free and waved about in the air. 

“Would you sign this for me? Please? It’s just that- my brother would never believe that I’d actually met you and you’re just so famous and-- will you?” 

Hadrian had the vague sense that he’d been manipulated when he offered the boy a small, soft smile and accepted the photo from the boy’s trembling grip. The picture was moving and showed Hadrian’s cheeks flushing as Theo looked on disapprovingly. He signed the bottom quickly with his newly acquired quills and handed it over, patting the boy’s shoulder. 

“Here you are- Colin, is it? Theo and I have somewhere to be but I’ll see you around, okay?” 

The boy’s eyes grew impossibly wider as he reached a trembling hand out to accept the photograph, nodding slowly. Hadrian just smiled again as he placed a hand on Theo’s arm and walked away.

* * *

It turned out that everyone was quite eager to join them in their studies. 

When Hadrian and the rest of his group walked into the library right after dinner, half of their year group was assembled at the back, squabbling and arguing and pushing desks together to make more space. 

“Remind me,” gritted out Daphne as she turned to Hadrian with a raised brow, “why exactly you opened the invitation out to all of these buffoons. Blaise was enough.” 

Hadrian laughed, ignoring the Italian boy’s “Hey!” 

“You see, my dear Daphne,” he started, resting his hands on her shoulders as he leaned closer to her, like he was sharing a secret, “these buffoons will make very good minions one day. It’s best they get their training now, right?” 

She rolled her eyes and shook him off, but he caught Tracey, Theo’s and- surprisingly- Blaise’s eyes who all held a knowing glint. He winked before turning to the rabble. “Terry!” he called. The brunet Ravenclaw looked up from where he was hunched over a stack of books. “I had no idea you were so popular!” 

The other boy- uncharacteristically- scowled and pushed up his glasses harshly. “Yes, well, word spread that I was invited to the exclusive study group of our year’s top scorers and- let’s just say the only reason I’m still here is because of those books Tracey promised to loan me.” The normally quiet Ravenclaw huffed, casting an annoyed look around. 

Tracey appeared to have taken pity on him because she delved into her bag and pulled out a thick tome (and if her bag didn’t have an undetectable extension charm then Hadrian’d eat his own hand). Soon enough, the two of them were engaged in a discussion over it. 

Still, there were too many people and not enough space and Hadrian was sure he could see the hairs on Madame Pince’s head rising one by one. 

“Harry!” an excited voice squealed, giving him half-a-second’s warning before a warm body barrelled into him. Sally-Anne was chattering on about something- either Hedwig (who could probably replace Hadrian as the golden-haired girls’ favourite living being ever) or Zilia (who, even though she nipped her hands, Sally-Anne was determined to win-over) or some other creature that Hagrid had smuggled in his hut. 

“-so then I heard Susan and Hannah talking about all the Claws saying that they were joining us tonight and- why don’t we just use a communal space? The library’s clearly too small and this lot are too loud.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste, shifting closer to him and farther from them. 

Hadrian did _not_ find it infinitely cute. 

“Communal space?” parroted Draco. 

Theo cast her a weird look. “It is way too cold to sit outside and it’s already gotten dark.” 

Sally-Anne giggled, slapping Theo lightly on the arm. He looked at where she had hit him and a look of such abject puzzlement broke out across his features that Hadrian couldn’t stop from snorting. 

“Of course! Well, they’re just dusty old classrooms that aren’t used for lessons anymore but we usually cast a few cleaning charms and push the desks together and hang out there if we want to spend time with our friends from other Houses. You guys were too busy being snobs last year to join us but it’d be worth it to use them now.” 

Hadrian cut a sharp look at her, to which she ducked her head, blood flooding her face. He let it slide. 

“Well, that makes sense, I guess. They can’t expect us to spend times only in our separate Houses or the library. Lead on, Sally-Anne. If these lot don’t notice us leaving then they’d be no good for studying anyway.” 

Sally-Anne laughed, and it was clear and tinkle-like and made Hadrian want to smile, though he resisted it. She collected her few friends, Bones, Abbott, Finch-Fletchley and then Brocklehurst and Li from Ravenclaw. 

They made their way to the first floor, not far from their History of Magic classroom, and into a fairly spacious room. 

Hadrian could tell that the place was frequently used. Though there was a thin layer of dust, it seemed to have come from the very air in the room itself rather than disuse. There were an ample amount of chairs- and if those ran out then they could always cast cushioning charms on the floor or desks. 

Daphne ditched them instantly for Padma, whose hair and lip gloss she enthusiastically complimented before segueing expertly onto the topic of their latest Transfiguration essay. Millicent was in the middle of a heated discussion with Finch-Fletchley about some legislation or other. After listening for a moment, he assured himself that it was nothing overly concerning but resolved to derail it at some point anyway. 

Theo had been drawn into a discussion with Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein on some obscure branch of time manipulation- or something to that effect. From the fluttering hands and intense look on his face, Hadrian knew his friend was in his element entirely. 

He wasn’t surprised to find Blaise holding court with the Hufflepuff girls and their Ravenclaw friends, batting his long lashes and flashing them smirks. Tracey and Terry wandered in almost absentmindedly, both of them pausing at the same time to push up their glasses. 

He hummed, satisfied. This all had come together much better than he’d thought it would. He felt rather chastened that this could have been happening all of last year as well, but he knew that he would not have been ready for it, or been receptive to it. Time; all they needed was a bit more time and everything would start to come together.

“Hadrian.” 

He whipped around, surprised. He’d thought that everyone would be too engrossed in their own conversations to notice that he was the only one not doing anything, just surveying them all. 

Draco was looking back at him. “I know that Higgs and Pucey are helping you with etiquette and the like but I- well I was thinking...that is, it wouldn’t be a burden if-” 

Hadrian laughed, laying a hand on Draco’s arm. “Just spit it out, Draco,” he said softly, letting his magic lick against the other boy’s. He watched Draco’s silver eyes become engulfed by black pupils as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Right,” he breathed, touching the Triquetra brooch Hadrian had noticed his entire group still wore and clearing his throat. “It’s just that- there’s a lot you don’t know about the Blacks which Mother has mentioned in the past. I know she’s planning on giving you a more detailed account in the next year or so but I could let you know now? If you’d like?” 

Draco’s cheeks were a vivid red, stark in comparison to pale skin, and Hadrian couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Draco was such a _funny_ creature. 

“I’d be delighted.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

The rest of the month passed in the same vein. 

Classes continued to be quite easy, though Snape was as ruthless as ever and continued to grill him in class. Lockhart hadn’t graduated to actually teaching them anything so their not-so-little study group morphed into some kind of Defense self-study group. Most of the girls had insisted that the man was simply impressing upon them the dangers of various magical creatures but after Sally-Anne heard what the man had been willing to do with the pregnant Pixies and publicly denounced him, the other Hufflepuff girls fell in line (something about Hufflepuff loyalty- Hadrian wasn’t too sure). 

Hadrian knew when he woke up on Halloween- or Samhain, as the Slytherins referred to it- morning that it wouldn’t be a good day. There was something in the air, or maybe it was because he could feel the tell-tale beginnings of a cold forming or that he’d slept through his morning alarm. 

(It certainly had nothing to do with his parents’ murder. No. Not at all.)

Either way, his mood was sour for the entire day, and not even Lockhart somehow managing to curse Longbottom with eyebrows that grew and tripped him up as he fled to the infirmary could lift his spirits. His wand was unusually responsive that day, executing charms before he’d finished saying the incantation and even adding intricate designs to the buttons he transfigured. The praise and awe were nice, but he would have foregone them in order to avoid McGonagall’s narrowed eyes and Flitwick’s curious questions. 

By dinner, he had to resolve that his mood may have something to do with it being the anniversary of his parents’ death because he’d seen Snape for a Pepper-Up and he’d not actually been late to any lessons. He didn’t know _why_ this year it was hitting so hard. He’d known last year, of course, but he’d not been particularly bothered by it. They’d always been this faceless concept, an abstract idea of belonging that he’d never actually seen before. 

Which, thinking about it, must have been the problem. He’d seen his parents’ faces in the Mirror last year, seen the way James Potter’s eyes crinkled in the corners and the way his mother’s hair curled, how- though his cheekbones were higher than either of theirs and his nose slightly rounder, he had his father’s jaw and his mother’s lips. 

He stopped short, blinking at the wall. He...he _missed_ them. How was that even possible- he didn’t even _know_ them! 

A sneer curled at his lips. _Missing_ someone was a useless emotion, a waste of emotion. Anger, the anger that always simmered in his stomach and curled higher at his thoughts, was much more useful. Anger could be harnessed and directed and used, wielded as a weapon. This...this _sorrow_ was no good to him. 

“Hadrian?” 

He looked over at Draco, who- along with the rest of their group- was staring at him with a furrowed brow. His sneer deepened instinctively at the blonde. His father, was Voldemort’s most trusted, had allied himself with the man who’d ruined his life, had lowered him to something as pitiful as _sorrow_. 

He saw Draco stumble back a step, grey eyes wide, and noticed that while he’d been preoccupied with his thoughts, his magic had slipped free and wrapped around the blond, slowly choking him. 

He took a deep breath as he coaxed his magic back, packing it away and locking it down. “I won’t be joining you. Go ahead without me.” 

Perhaps it was the effect of his magic or the coolness of his voice but nobody questioned it, all of them turning and hurrying away. 

He wandered for a while, aimlessly drifting from corridor to corridor, up and down shifting staircases, ducking into a few of the hidden passageways before re-emerging. He kept at it until he felt the tension that coiled at his neck ease slightly. The air was charged; his brooch was humming and his wand vibrated slightly from its place in his holster. Something was going to happen- was _meant_ to happen. 

He flicked up a quick Tempus and saw that the feast would be over by the time he got there, and they’d all decided to meet up in their practice room so it made sense to head there now. There was this interesting new curse he’d overheard a few fourth-years talking about that would be interesting to try out on a transfigured pillow.

_“...rip...sssweet flesssh...kill…”_

He paused, yew wand jumping instantly into his hands as his eyes darted around. He didn’t imagine there’d be many who passed up the opportunity to stuff themselves full of chocolate and sweets so really, the whole school should be in the Great Hall. 

_“...finally...master...eat…”_

Hadrian was suddenly thankful for the unusual responsiveness of his wand that day as he called up a bright _Lumos_ , peering around him. No one. 

_“...kill...time to kill...eat…”_

He thought about following it as it tapered off towards the bathrooms, but dismissed the idea. It would be an entirely too Gryffindor thing to follow the words on murder, and he wasn't looking to sully his reputation just yet with accusations of murder. If such ever he was accused of such a thing he'd make sure it was for something he actually _had_ done. Hastily, he turned and hurried back towards the Great Hall, ducking into a shady alcove when a bunch of giggling girls passed. Once they’d passed he crept out and was about to step onto a turning staircase when he heard his name. 

A small Gryffindor with a camera swinging from his neck bounded up beside him, beaming and all bright eyes and glowing skin. “Harry! Hiya! How are you! How come you’re not at the feast? Everyone’s there!”

He bit back a curl of irritation, which wasn’t hard because the boy’s enthusiasm was more endearing than it had any right to be. He raised a brow. “ _You’re_ not at the feast, Colin,” he pointed out. 

The boy blushed. “Oh, yeah. But that was just because I had to go back and get this. Jake didn’t want to wait.” He held his camera up as he scrunched up his nose. Hadrian laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair. Something about the younger boy made him feel...well, he wasn’t sure _what_ he felt, but he knew it was at least positive. 

“What do you do with all these pictures you take? Create an album?”

Colin nodded emphatically. “Yeah! Kinda, I guess. I just...I don’t want this all to be a dream, you know? I was always teased in my school because I’d come up with the craziest things- like I’d floated off my bed or I’d turned the ugly toy my aunt got me into a football and- it’s nice to have _proof_.” 

Hadrian felt his heart twist at that, understanding just how Colin felt. It was easy to feel like Hogwarts and the Wizarding World was nothing but a dream in comparison to the muggle world. Hadrian had thought for the longest time that he’d be the only one with magic, the only one in a world of fools who couldn’t hope to compare to him. The sentiment translated easily in the Wizarding World, which had no shortage of fools, but it was nice to know that there was more to his magic, more to learn and explore. 

He went to respond to the boy when a scream pierced the air. By now, most of the school had started trickling out of the feast, and at the sound, everyone rushed to see what had caused it. 

Hadrian pulled up short, instinctively shielding Colin from the sight. 

Mrs Norris, the squib caretaker’s demonic cat, was hanging from the ceiling by her tail, frozen as if she’d been about to take a step. Behind her, were foot-high words, dripping and red and made all-the-more sinister by the flickering torches along the wall. 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED 

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here we are! 
> 
> I admit, I've been asked a few times for what exactly the pairing will be so the answer is that it will definitely be a Harry/Theo story while-- but also Harry/Draco. I know not everyone reading this will like/prefer that and, sorry for that, but it's the only way I can really see the romance working. Harry and Theo are almost like the same person in how easy it is for them to be with each other while Draco provides more passion and drama. Both relationships provide something different for Hadrian. 
> 
> Again, I know not everyone will like this, and honestly I didn't see myself writing it like this but \\_(:/)_/  
> If anything changes in my plans, I'll let you all know. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter or anything I said there ^^ I'd be really interested in hearing your thoughts


	20. The Truth

_The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable  
_- _James A. Garfield_

The whole school was buzzing with rumours about the petrified Mrs Norris. 

Hadrian had watched as Filch had come barrelling around the corner before freezing, milky eyes wide as he stared at his beloved cat and the message behind her. Then he’d turned on them like a savage, eyes wild and near frothing at the mouth as his gnarled hands reached out to grab and shake the students, screaming unintelligibly in their faces.

He’d just flicked his wand into his hand when a bright red stunner hit the squib in the back and he toppled over, as still as his hanging cat. 

Snape and Dumbledore had burst onto the scene then, followed closely by McGonagall and Flitwick who quickly ushered everyone away and to their common rooms. Hadrian had opted to walk Colin back to Gryffindor Tower, knowing that the excitable boy would probably get swept away or trampled in the crowd.

“That’s so cool! What’s the Chamber? And who’s the heir? Did you see that _blood_ , Harry? Dennis won’t believe me but I’ll send him those pictures and-” 

“Colin, breathe,” he laughed, turning the boy around and settling his hands on his shoulders. The boy was practically _vibrating_. 

The first year Gryffindor blushed, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed, ruffling his hair again. “Just try to stay out of trouble, okay? I’ll see you around.” 

That was a week ago, and the rumours hadn’t died down yet. Draco had overheard Parkinson saying that she’d heard from a few Hufflepuffs that Filch had found the culprit but was waiting to harness the power of the winter solstice to punish them because he had no magic of his own. Hadrian wasn’t quite sure how possible that was, but resolved to research it anyway. 

He could tell that the adults were hassled by the Chamber rumours, and they were more ruthless than ever with punishments when they caught students whispering in class about it. It wasn’t until Tuesday’s History of Magic class that a professor even addressed them. Surprisingly, it was Granger who prompted Professor Binns to speak on it. 

“Please, Professor,” she pleaded, “What’s the Chamber of Secrets?” 

Binns looked like he was about to refuse, but when suddenly faced with twenty sets of puppy-dog eyes he could hardly refuse. “Oh, alright. The Chamber of Secrets, we must remember, is a legend.”

Granger waved her hand in the air. 

“Miss Grant?” 

“Well, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”

Binns looks stumped, as if he’d never been asked a question before. 

“Yes, well, but it’s a very _ludicrous_ and _sensational_ tale. You are all, of course, aware of the school’s four Founders; Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They were all fantastic wizards and worked in harmony together running the school they’d built far from the prying eyes of Muggles, for it was an age where magic was feared and punished rather severely.” 

Hadrian refrained from mentioning that age was also _now_. 

“After a while, though, there grew a rift between them. Slytherin wanted to be more _selective_ with the students they admitted, believing children with muggle parents to be untrustworthy and liable to exposing them all.” 

“But Professor,” started Millicent, sitting forward with gleaming eyes. “Weren’t all the Founders selective? Gryffindor wanted only the brave and daring while Ravenclaw wanted those with wit and love of learning. Really, it was only Hufflepuff who didn’t discriminate in some way against the students she was willing to admit to the school and teach.” 

The class as a whole blinked at her, and where any other girl may have blushed and ducked in the face of such so much attention, she simply stared coolly at the ghost floating at the front. Hadrian reckoned that if the ghost had been alive, his cheeks would be aflame. As it was, he blustered for a bit before wrangling his tongue under control. 

“Well- I- _yes_ but Slythern’s distinguishing quality was the purity of one’s blood, a quality that none of them could do anything about.” 

Michael Corner’s hand sprung up. “Nor is how brash or intrinsically intelligent someone is. Those aren’t qualities that can be worked on- cultivated, right?” 

Again, the class sat in stunned silence before Weasley cleared his throat. “The Chamber, Professor?” 

“Yes, right, the Chamber. Well, Slytherin eventually left the school and that is all that reliable historical sources have on the matter. It has, over time, been muddied by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. According to legend, Slytherin created and sealed a hidden chamber in the school, of which the other founders knew nothing. It would remain sealed until his own true heir arrived at the school and unsealed it, releasing a beast that would purge the school of all those deemed unfit to practice magic.” 

There was rapped, fascinated silence, and Binns seemed so utterly pleased with it that Hadrian wondered if it was the first time the ghost had gained such a thing from a class. It was broken a moment later when he waved a spectral hand. “It is all, of course, arrant nonsense. The school has been searched numerous times by the brightest and best of wixen. Not so much as a secret broom closet has been discovered in millennia, and I would thank you to put it out of your mind.” 

Then he turned back to the board and re-started his lecture on goblin wars. 

* * *

The first Quidditch match of the year was between them and Gryffindor. They had two new Beaters as the other two had graduated last year, and while Flint’s training had been just as insane this year, Hadrian wasn’t sure whether Bole and Derrick would be able to stand up to Gryffindor’s team. They were a good team and had been working with each other for long enough for them to become a well-oiled machine. The Weasley Twins literally didn’t need to speak to communicate, and while they formed something like an alliance off-pitch, on-pitch was a whole other story. 

He and Flint had decided that the best course of action was to find and catch the snitch as quickly as possible. They had the other games to try and gain points and climb the leaderboard. 

By the time they walked out onto the pitch, his heart was pounding and adrenaline raced through his veins. The crowds were deafening, more like armies roaring before battle than supporting students- though the comparison was rather apt for the sport they played. 

Madame Hooch called for Captains to shake hands which was more of a chance for Flint to crush Wood’s hands in his before they kicked off and fourteen brooms shot into the air. 

Hadrian instantly assumed his position high above the game, watching as the Gryffindor Chasers gained the Quaffle and went in for the Gregson play before fumbling it and dropping the ball straight into Flint’s hand. His attention was torn away from their Chasers passing and making their way towards Wood by a Bludger that careened towards his face. He swerved, looking around wildly to see who’d smacked it towards him, but before he could even spot a guilty Beater he had to duck to miss it as it came back around. 

Thinking quickly, he sped towards Lucian Bole, one of their new Beaters and had a second to yell, “Heads up!” before ducking himself. Bole yelled as he smacked at the Bludger, sending it careening towards Alicia Spinnet. It should have hit her, it was right on path, but it changed courses, turning when it was less than a foot away from her and rocketing back towards him. 

They spent the next twenty minutes going like that, roping the other Beater, Peregrine Derrick, into orbiting him as well and getting a good few hits in. Every time the Bludger got close to hitting someone else, it changed course and came right back around like a particularly vengeful boomerang. 

Someone had tampered with it, that was the only explanation because Bludgers didn’t _do_ this. They were supposed to unseat as many layers as possible, not avoid every other flying thing apart from him! It had even swerved out of the way from hitting Boon, the Gryffindor Seeker, when it had been about to smack him straight in the face. 

Hadrian gritted his teeth, spotting Johnson catch the Quaffle and set off for their hoops. He had no idea what the score was, but an idea came to him and he leaned forwards on his broom, hearing the whistle of the Bludger as it chased after him. 

On his superior broom, it didn’t take him long to catch up with her. The whistle had grown to a loud whine, and at the last second, he rolled over on his broom, spinning in the air. He heard the unmistakable sound of the Bludger smacking into her, heard her surprised yelp and grinned to himself as he zoomed away. 

He employed the tactic for another twenty minutes, hovering close to the Gryffindor players and waiting until the Bludger got close before spinning away. It was almost pathetically easy on his Nimbus compared to their Cleansweeps, and if he were someone else, he may have felt bad. As it was, it left Bole and Derrick free to focus on deflecting the other Bludger from where the Weasley Twins batted it at their Chasers. 

It had started to rain when he spotted the glint of gold, fluttering up by the Gryffindor hoops. Instantly he took off, and he distantly heard Lee Jordan call out to everyone that he’d spotted the snitch. Two seconds later and he could hear the now-familiar whistle of the Bludger following him and behind that Boon trying to catch up. Nobody was anywhere near him, so there wasn’t the chance of deflecting the Bludger’s blow onto someone else. Instead, Hadrian had to fly in dizzying patterns, in loops and swirls and crazy shapes which eventually meant that he lost the snitch. 

He growled when he spotted it again, this time hovering by Bole’s ear. The boy was too busy trying to find the other Bludger to notice him drift closer, and he wasn’t about to make any sudden movements and alert Boon to its new location. 

Bole looked over at him and sneered, eyes narrowed in distaste. The older boy didn’t like him and it was no secret amongst their House. When he’d first made it onto the team, he’d made it a point to ignore Hadrian and hex his clothes so that they always danced their way into the showers when he was still practising with the snitch on the pitch. It was childish, and nothing that a well-placed _Ventus_ and warming charm couldn’t fix, but it was infinitely annoying and made a nerve tick in Hadrian’s skull. 

He smirked, kicking off his broom at the same time that the whistle turned into a whine. His hand closed around the snitch just as an outraged and pain-filled _“Argh!”_ rang out. The crowd collectively screamed, and Hadrian had to appreciate for a moment the feeling of weightlessness as he hovered for a split-second in the air. Eventually, gravity caught up, but a quick, silent call for his broom saw that he didn’t fall to his death. 

He thrust his hand with the fluttering snitch into the air, thrilling in Lee Jordan’s loud gasp as he shouted, “Potter’s got the snitch! Slytherin win, 210-70!”

He beamed as his teammates cheered and zipped about the pitch, his House roaring their victory and waving banners as they ditched decorum for rubbing their victory in everyone’s face. His blood absolutely _sang_ and he felt atop the world as he made a lap of the pitch, the Golden Snitch thrust in the air and glorious in his hand. 

He was so happy that it took several moments for him to register the pain when the Bludger slammed into his arm. He was sent careening across the pitch, spinning uncontrollably and gasping in confusion as his arm hung at an awkward angle. The pain didn’t set in until he touched down on the pitch, stumbling until a hand steadied him. He wasn’t even sure who it was that had wrapped their arm around his shoulders, just that there was shooting, sharp agony pulsing at his left arm. 

He blinked. 

“Coming through! Make way- move- out of the way, now!” 

He groaned as the voice floated above the crowd now surrounding him, fighting the bile that rose in his throat. “Not...L’ckhart,” he slurred, swallowing convulsively. “‘nyone but him.” 

There was a small huff of amusement in his ear and the scent of spearmint which let him know that it was Draco who was supporting him, which was altogether weird but he didn’t have much time to dwell on it because Lockhart was shouting something about coming to his rescue and being the saviour’s saviour which- Hadrian _really_ didn’t want the man pointing his wand anywhere near him. His protests were drowned out by the grinning fool. 

“ _Brackium Emendo.”_

Hadrian knew enough Latin to know that those words did _not_ translate well, and before he could shout or move, he felt himself slump to the side. He was strangely lopsided, and as he looked down at his arm, he was met with the sight of some kind of floppy, rubbery appendage that didn’t obey his commands. 

The crowd around him gave a collective gasp and he heard Draco swear. Hadrian gave a weak laugh. “Oh, bugger.” 

* * *

He awoke to a white ceiling and swore. 

“Language,” droned a low voice, and he turned bleary eyes to take in the black blob beside him. There was a Potions magazine covering his face, which was clue enough without all the dark clothes to telling him who it was. 

Snape slowly lowered and closed the paper, setting it on the table beside him. Hadrian watched the man, slowly sitting up. “Professor, where are my…” his mind was still slow, foggy, and he waved at his face. The man hummed and pushed forward a vial of sloshing solution. It was just like the one he’d been prescribed, and he wondered if the man had _accio_ ed it or created his own. 

When he could see properly, he noticed that Snape was frowning at him, lines etched into his face and making him look older than he was. For the first time, Hadrian wondered how old his Head of House really was. He’d been the same age as his mother, and from what he knew, she’d been only twenty when Voldemort had killed her. 

“Madam Pomfrey gave you some Skele-Gro while you whiled the hours away slumbering. By morning your arm should be fully functional. I expect you to be in all classes on Monday.” With that he stood and swept out, black robes billowing dramatically behind him. 

Hadrian rolled his eyes, turning to reach for the abandoned magazine and nearly jumping out of his skin when he was met with large, watery eyes. “Dobby!” he said loudly, scrambling up on the bed. The house-elf jumped back and his lips started wobbling. 

“Harry Potter came to Hoggywarts,” he started miserably, tears dripping from its large, tennis-ball eyes and down its long nose. “Dobby warned Harry Potter, sir. Dobby even sent him away, sent him to be _free_ and _safe_! Dobby never thought Harry Potter would find another way to the school- Harry Potter is too smart for Dobby!” 

The house-elf started a bout of wailing which no amount of shushing could curb, so he threw up a few silencing charms. Anger sizzled in his veins and fought to regain control over his emotions. 

“So _you_ were the one who tampered with the Floo?” he demanded, and the creature bobbed its head. 

“Yes! Dobby had to iron his hands for that. But it was worth it! Dobby thought Harry Potter would be _safe_! Dobby burned Master Lucius’ dinner when he heard Harry Potter was back at school. Such a flogging Dobby had…” 

Hadrian took a deep breath in, but pushed his anger away. It was inconvenient, of course, having this stupid creature constantly popping up and making his life unnecessarily hard, but it was a testament to the thing’s devotion to him. Such a thing couldn’t be too bad, if he managed to temper and direct it. 

“I... _appreciate_...your efforts, Dobby, but you can’t keep doing things like that. You’re putting me in more danger than anything you’re attempting to avoid.”

Dobby swung his head from side to side, shaking it in rebuttal. 

“No!” he wailed. “No, Harry Potter must understand! There is...terrible, terrible horrors for Harry Potter. Dobby thought his Bludger would send you home, make you safe, but Harry Potter is much too smart again!” He started up his wailing again, and while Hadrian was sure that no one else could hear, he wasn’t willing to submit himself to that. He flicked a finger at the creature, and instantly all sound ceased. 

Then he thought through what the elf had revealed and turned burning eyes to the thing. Dobby shrank back into himself. “Are you telling me,” he started in a soft voice, “that the Bludger targeting me the entire game was because of _you_?” Dobby shook like a leaf, bunching up the dirty pillowcase that he wore in his long, blistered fingers. Hadrian glanced down at his arm. “When my bones have all been regrown, I’m going to skin you and send you back to your _master_ in a pretty little box for Yule.” 

The threat didn’t seem to faze the house-elf. If anything, the creature stood taller and smiled tremulously. 

“Dobby is used to threats,” he squeaked out. “Dobby gets them five times a day at home. But Dobby cannot allow Master Harry Potter, sir, to get hurt! The Chamber of Secrets is open now and Harry Potter must leave Hoggywarts or-” 

“I don’t care!” he cut in, finally losing his patience. “I don’t give a damn about any of that. Stop trying to kill me, Dobby.” 

“Kill you!” the thing looked outraged and sick at the same time. “Never, Harry Potter! Dobby would never try to kill Master Harry Potter, sir! Oh if you only knew! Before, when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, we the lowly, the enslaved, the house-elves were treated like vermin, like scum with no hope! Dobby is still vermin but...it is better now! It has been better for my kind since Harry Potter triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named and it was a new day for us, sir, a new dawn. Harry Potter was our beacon of hope!” 

Hadrian watched Dobby as he babbled and sniffled and cried. He was a pitiful thing, with his blistered fingers and large eyes and sallow skin, but he was a passionate one as well. He- and if the house-elf could be believed- and the other creatures saw him like that, as a beacon of hope. He scoffed. He didn’t _want_ to be anyone’s beacon. Nobody had been his. He hadn’t had a champion to appoint that could pull him out of his despair. He’d had to do it himself. Why should he fight anyone else’s battle for them? 

“Get out,” he growled, fed up of the creature’s incessant whines. Dobby’s eyes filled with tears but he paid them little mind. “Now, or I’ll make Voldemort look like child’s-play.” The house-elf flinched and wailed from the name and, giving him one last tearful look, Disapparated with a crack. 

Hadrian fell against the bed, feeling suddenly tired. He’d just decided to put all thoughts of rogue Bludgers and meddling house-elves out of his mind when the door to the infirmary swung open and voices drifted in. Quickly, he buried himself in the covers and turned on his side, so that he faced the long row of beds in the rest of the room. 

There were two sets of feet, and soon enough the people came into view. One was Dumbledore, decked out in a fluffy nightgown with dancing moons and stars (not unlike his day robes) and the other was Professor McGonagall, still dressed like she was ready to teach. Between the two of them, they carried something large and life-sized, heaving it onto one of the beds. It was stiff and didn’t so much as twitch when they set it down. 

Hadrian strained his eyes to see, careful not to move too much and draw attention to himself. A ray of moonlight slanted through the window, and he saw that it was a student. Roger Malone, a Hufflepuff student in his year. There was no love lost between the two of them and it was well-known, the copper-haired boy one of Zacharias Smith’s closest friends. 

“Get Madam Pomfrey,” whispered Dumbledore, and McGonagall hastened to do as he bid, rushing to the attached room. Hadrian saw that Malone’s face was frozen, eyes wide and mouth agape. Madame Pomfrey and McGonagall rushed back over. 

“My word,” the mediwitch gasped out, “Albus, what happened?” 

“Another attack,” said Dumbledore, voice grave and face lined. “Minerva found him by the East towers.” 

Hadrian frowned. There was nothing really in the East towers apart from a long corridor of windows which oversaw the grounds. On days when it was sunny but not especially warm, the East towers were a favourite amongst the upper years for sitting at and studying in or just generally mucking around. Nobody below fourth year tended to go there, though, and especially not a second-year Hufflepuff whose dorms were in the dungeons. 

The other teachers all seemed to be pondering the same thing. “Have you found out what he was doing? Perhaps he was meeting with someone from Ravenclaw.” 

Dumbledore shook his head. “I have no idea, and Mr Malone certainly won’t be telling us anytime soon.” The Headmaster turned to his Deputy then. “Minerva, was there anything strange about the site where you found him?” 

McGonagall shook her head. “Not really. One of the windows was cracked, if that helps any.” 

Pomfrey frowned. “But...isn’t that more likely from some students roughhousing? Merlin knows they come in here with all sorts of stupid injuries.”

“The windows are charmed impervious to spells. It would take an incredibly talented and powerful student to not only cast a spell powerful enough to undo the castle’s own magic, but also undo the warding several masters have laid.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and attention returned to him. “It is all well and good to presume, ladies, but until we have definitive proof there is no use in speculating. For now, we have bigger problems to deal with.”

McGonagall shifted. “Albus..what does this mean?” 

The Headmaster didn’t reply for a long while, staring down at the frozen student. Then, at last, he spoke. “It means that it’s true. The Chamber of Secrets has been reopened.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Draco yawned into his coffee. He’d been up for half the night researching with Tracey and Theo of all people about the various by-laws and rules of Quidditch. The Bludger should not have been able to seek out Hadrian exclusively for the entire match, let alone have been able to break his arm _after_ the game was done. Madam Hooch promised to launch an investigation into who tampered with the balls, but Draco wasn’t satisfied. 

If he couldn’t play the sport he loved, then he’d make damn sure that it was being played properly, especially since Hadrian had a knack for almost dying nearly every match. 

At first, when he’d heard that the other boy had made Seeker, he’d been furious. This was years, probably centuries of long-standing tradition and convention that they were casting aside in favour of accommodating the Boy-Who-Lived. It just served to remind him of all the things Father spoke about when he came home from the Ministry, about the mudbloods and blood traitors trampling all over their traditions and customs in order to make the unworthy, filthy mudbloods comfortable. 

He may have been accepted back into Hadrian’s fold, but it wasn’t a surety. There had always been the option of getting Father involved which may have salvaged some of his reputation (every good Snake should have connections, after all) but he’d have still been on the outs _and_ had Hadrian as an enemy, not to mention that he’d been publicly humiliated in front of their entire House and no-one would align themself with the weak. 

No, it was better to bite his tongue and wait for an opportunity to arise where he could make the Malfoy name great and feared again. At the very least, Hadrian was a brilliant flyer; for someone raised by Muggles, he took to the sky like he was born on a broom or was meant to have wings. 

Yesterday, though, was the most nerve-wracking game he’d watched- which wasn’t a statement to be taken lightly considering he had season’s tickets to all Falmouth Falcons games. From the moment it had been released and the players rose into the air, the Bludger had dogged Hadrian, straying no further than twenty yards even from the most powerful whack of a Beater. 

“Oh don’t _brood,_ Draco. It’s so unbecoming.” 

He jumped, spilling his coffee as he whirled around. Hadrian was striding towards him, a small smile in place as he deflected a paltry attempt at a hex from Bole. There was no love lost between the two of them as their entire House knew, and Hadrian’s move yesterday had only served to piss the older boy off. Draco reckoned that if he hadn’t been so busy worrying about Hadrian, he would’ve enjoyed the look of Bole’s rearranged face a lot more. 

Draco scowled at the other boy, tamping down on the _weirdness_ that swarmed his gut as Hadrian slipped in beside him and settled those startling green eyes on him. Maybe he was sick. He should ask Uncle Sev for some Pepper-Up, or get some from Madam Pomfrey. 

“I wasn’t _brooding_ ,” he grumbled back, flicking his eyes up to meet expectant ones. “I’m _tired_.”

“I can tell,” Hadrian said, and his grin turned sharper. “You haven’t done anything to your hair.” 

Draco’s scowl darkened as his hand rose instinctively to pat at his hair. He _knew_ he should have at least put some potion in it this morning. It always fluffed up like a wispy cloud when he left it alone. 

“Oh sod off, Potter,” he sneered back, “At least I don’t look like someone doused me in water then hit me with a stinging hex.” Blaise snickered at that. 

Daphne sat forward, abandoning her conversation with Tracey and Millicent to tune in to their sniping. He would never admit it to anyone, but the blonde girl kind of intimidated him. She came across, for all intents and purposes, like any other harebrained dolt interested in gossip and beauty potions but there were times when Draco saw flashes of sharp intelligence, cold and calculating eyes and her smile oftentimes was overly sweet. She was like some kind of ambush predator who waited for her prey’s weakest moment before pouncing. Sometimes, when she bickered with Hadrian, Draco had to wonder whether there was real animosity under there. 

Hadrian waved a hand. “Whatever you say, ducky.” 

Everyone laughed at that. 

Draco sniffed, meeting laughing green eyes. “Those moves yesterday were quite something. Have you informed Mother that you’ll be pursuing a career in ballet? She’ll be quite disappointed- until she sees you perform, of course.” 

Hadrian smiled then. “Of course not, Draco. I would never take your dream job.” 

He sucked in a breath, fighting the flush that threatened at his cheeks. The blow was twofold; it insinuated that he wanted to be a _ballerina_ of all things and reminded him that Hadrian had already taken his dream position as a Seeker for Slytherin. He stared at the other boy, cheeks burning and some variation of anger and embarrassment sizzling in his veins until there was the loud sound of fluttering wings and he tore his gaze away. 

Like he did every Sunday, Draco got a care package from his mother, and though he had to send Blaise a venomous glare so he’d stop laughing, he enjoyed the treats and letter a lot. Hadrian got a similar package, and though he usually stared at it for a moment or two with a weird look on his face, this time he was looking at Nott, who seemed oddly pale. 

The other boy was reading a letter and his face was tellingly blank. Really if Father had ever seen Draco look so obviously distraught he’d have his broom privileges revoked for a week. Hadrian didn’t seem to think the same, though. He was reading Nott’s letter over his shoulder, brow furrowed. Then he said something quietly to the other boy, and Nott bit something out in response. 

Draco scowled. He’d been having a _moment_ with Hadrian and of course Nott had to distract him and ruin it. He huffed and plucked at the seedless grapes his mother had sent. “What’s the matter, Nott? Daddy need funding for his latest project?” 

Draco wasn’t sure what made him say it, but he’d always had an antagonistic relationship with the other boy and it wasn’t any better that Hadrian clearly preferred the bookworm over him. _He_ was the one with the super-rich parents and impressive things and even more impressive name. What did Nott have that he didn’t?

Normally, his words never got to the tawny brunet, but something about them made the boy’s lips curl back in a vicious snarl as the parchment crumpled in his fist. 

“You shut your mouth, Malfoy,” he hissed, and his hazel eyes seemed to practically glow. “My father wouldn’t take any of your traitorous, bloody money if it was the only way to survive.” 

Draco smiled at that, and for the first time in a _long_ time he felt powerful and in control again. He laughed. “You’re forgetting, Nott, that it _is_ his only way to survive. I’m sure there was a rumour about a failing estate-”

“Enough.” Hadrian’s eyes flashed as he spoke, his magic flaring up and stabbing at them. 

Draco’s jaw snapped shut, but he didn’t wipe the smirk from his face. Theodore looked _furious_ , like he was willing to leap over the table and strangle him with his bare hands. _Good_ , Draco thought, turning smugly back to his care package. _Let Hadrian see how uncouth he is. I wouldn’t lose my temper like that._..

Draco stubbornly ignored all the times that he _had_.

* * *

Hadrian repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He still wasn’t sure what the issue was between Theo and Draco but now was not the time for them to get into one of their sniping matches. For one, Theo was more likely than ever to throw a blood-boiling curse at the blond, and secondly they were in the Great Hall where bandying Dark Spells about was generally frowned upon. 

Daphne had a sharp smile on her face and looked ready to say something but Tracey elbowed her sharply and shook her head. The blonde snarled at her friend but backed down, sniffing. 

“I suppose now wouldn’t be the best time to talk about the fact that there was another attack last night,” he said softly, undoing the wrapping on one of the bonbons Narcissa had sent him. 

The table seemed to freeze, and even the upper years he’d noticed looking over paused in their conversations. Oh, they were subtle about it. None of them stopped speaking _completely_ but Hadrian noticed the way eyes darted over to him, the subtle shift of their bodies and inclinations of their heads. Even those who usually abandoned decorum like Crabbe and Goyle stopped scraping their cutlery against their plates in a bid to dim the noise. 

Hadrian fought the smirk that tugged at his lips. 

Blaise leaned forward, a wide grin on his face. “Now you can’t keep such juicy details to yourself, Hadrian. Share with the class.” 

Hadrian laughed. “Even teachers get paid.” He rose a brow and noticed the way Blaise’s grey-green eyes narrowed. 

The dark-skinned boy sat back with a thoughtful hum before snapping his fingers. “ _Madre’s_ just been widowed again. I’m sure she can get a report from the Aurors for what they think caused this latest fatality.” The boy’s smile was slow and wicked, and Hadrian couldn’t help but let a tendril of his magic curl around him. Blaise’s magic felt like molasses, like wading through a field of poisonous plants that snagged and scratched until you were left bleeding and too weak to go back. 

“Well then,” he said, grinning, “I think you may find it of interest to know that Roger Malone was brought in petrified last night. They found him in the East Towers.” 

Tracey frowned. “He had to have been meeting someone from another House. If he’d gone with another Puff then he wouldn’t have been alone.” 

“Apparently he’s dating Lily Moon,” Daphne said, and her eyes practically sparkled. “But everyone knows that she doesn’t like Smith or the fact that Malone hangs out with him. She may be a _muggle-born_ ,” here she threw a significant glance at Hadrian, who only bared his teeth at her, “but she’s got _some_ sense.” 

Draco snorted. “Clearly not enough if she’s cavorting with _Malone_. Still, the dirty must stick together.” Hadrian watched with mounting irritation as Draco deliberately looked him in the eye before taking a bite out of an apple. 

Narrowing his eyes, he loosened some control over his magic, letting it lash against the blond with almost the same ferocity that he’d used last year in their duel. He watched Draco go rigid, his head ducking and eyes glazing over as his jaw went slightly slack before he sucked in a breath. Then he shook his head and when Hadrian met his gaze next, the blond’s grey eyes shone silver. 

There was movement from the corner of his eyes then, and he turned to see Pansy Parkinson rushing by, her dark head bowed but a small smile visible on his face. 

He wondered how long it would take for the rest of the school to find out.

* * *

If he had nothing good at all to say about Parkinson, he could at least admit that the girl worked fast. Word had spread by dinner about Malone’s petrification and by Monday morning, everyone was buzzing with news of the Chamber of Secrets. 

He hadn’t told the others yet that the Chamber had been opened before, according to Dumbledore and Dobby, nor that the window he’d been found by was cracked. It seemed like a small, inconsequential detail, but McGonagall’s insistence that it couldn’t merely have been a stray spell caused suspicion to itch at him. If no student was magically strong enough to break the enchantments and wards on the widows, then what was? Did they have another Quirrell situation with a teacher being the culprit? 

At their study group on Monday, Malone’s petrification was all any of them would talk about, much to Tracey’s displeasure. The mousy girl couldn’t give a Knut about the pig-headed Hufflepuff and made her thoughts known, which only caused the Hufflepuff girls Bones and Abbott to bristle. They may not have been particularly fond of the boy themselves but as a fellow Badger, they felt some kind of kinship and therefore an obligation to at least _discuss_ his sudden disappearance. 

“He had nothing good to offer and I say good riddance,” Tracey said bluntly before pushing her cat-glasses up her nose and sticking it into a thick tome on Magical Theory. 

Hadrian cleared his throat to change the subject but was saved from it when the door to the classroom burst open in a shower of sparks and sulfurous smoke. 

Draco squawked and jumped a foot in the air while Hadrian, Daphne and Theo whipped out their wands and pointed it at the door. 

“Oh, ho!” called a- familiar- voice. 

“Hold your horses-”

“-and your spellfire too-”

“ _It’s only your favourite twins_.” 

Hadrian sighed and sank back into his seat, rubbing away the impending headache. 

(There was _always_ a headache where the Weasley twins were concerned)

Draco snorted, sitting as elegantly as he had before the unfortunate scare. He had his nose in the air, though, which let Hadrian know how secretly humiliated the blond actually felt. “If a _Weasley_ is ever my favourite anything other than punching bag then I’ll admit myself to the Janus Thickey Ward.” 

Fred only laughed and flicked his wand, incanting a spell too quickly for Hadrian to catch. He watched the sickly yellow spell sweep and dig and loop through the air before hitting Draco square in the chest and toppling him from his chair. The twins high-fived each other before unceremoniously throwing themselves atop a rickety desk while Draco groaned on the floor. 

When he sat up, Hadrian had to bite down on his tongue to stop from laughing. Theo had no such compunctions and didn’t try to hide his snickers, and Blaise, of course, never did. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls giggled amongst themselves and even Tracey rose an amused brow and let her lips tick into a half-smile. 

Draco was too busy threatening the twins with a lawsuit or reparations for bruising to notice that his skin had broken out in bright purple spots and ruby red flowers. It was completely ridiculous, and harmless to everything except the blond’s ego, but right up the twins’ alley. 

“-and if _that_ doesn’t scare you then let me tell you about the Law Wizard prodigy my father is good friends with because _he_ is very impres-- _aarghhh!”_ Laughter rang through the room as Draco screamed and flailed about, tugging at his robes to look at how far-reaching the offending colours were. 

Hadrian wondered whether the other boy knew that his hair reacted to his distress- it had started to fluff up and fall wispily into his wide grey in a way that Hadrian thought rather suited him. Maybe he should make it his mission to get Draco to abandon all those hair potions by the end of their second year at Hogwarts. 

(He reckoned he may have more luck convincing Theo to give up his vehement dislike for all things pumpkin)

The twins’ grand entrance had distracted everyone from noticing the small figure that slipped in behind them, but Hadrian watched with a bemused smile as the boy sidled up to him, offering a tremulous but bright smile. He returned it and patted the empty seat beside him. 

Colin sat and inspected the room with bright eyes before looking back at him. “Hi Harry!” he near-shouted. “Did you hear what happened to Roger Malone? Did you get to see him? You were in the infirmary when he was brought in, weren’t you? Did you hear anything about what happened? Do you know what’s happening? I heard that you stopped and killed Professor Quirrell last year in order to protect something really special for Headmaster Dumbledore. Is that true? Will you tell me?”

Hadrian had to blink for a few moments in order to process the veritable word vomit that Colin had just spewed. 

Before he could respond, though, Blaise sidled up to them and flung an arm across Hadrian’s shoulders. “Now, now,” he started smoothly, grinning slightly. “That is all hearsay. I won’t allow you to sic such unfounded claims on my client. Need I remind you that he is only twelve? How was he supposed to have killed a grown man- a _defence_ professor at that!”

The room, which had largely been ignoring them, collectively paused at that. “Uh...nobody ever saw Professor Quirrell again. Everyone knows that Potter-Black was the last to see him,” said Michael Corner, who’d come with Terry Boot (who was hunched whispering with Tracey). 

Blaise shook his head sadly, still grinning. “Speculation and unfounded. I trust your sources was the very reliable rumour mill that also accused Professor Snape of having a romantic entanglement with the Giant Squid when he’d really just been trying to cultivate the growth of British-grown gillyweed- a discovering which, may I remind you all, has revolutionised both Potions and Herbology?” 

The dark-skinned boy was met with utter silence, slack jaws and wide, blinking eyes. Even Tracey and Terry were looking at Blaise with something like mild awe. For his part, Blaise simply sat back with a smug smile. 

“Blaise that was...utterly _fantastic_!” exclaimed Millicent in an unusual show of excitement. Her face was lit up and a broad smile stretched across her face which made her look infinitely more inviting and seemed to change her demeanour entirely. Hadrian saw Daphne squint slightly at her friend. 

Blaise just threw a wink at him before getting up, just as gracefully as he’d slid himself in, to engage in a conversation with Millicent. After that, the volume of the room slowly climbed back up, though Hadrian noticed most of it rotated around the smug Italian. 

Colin was sat still slack-jawed beside him and the twins were animatedly discussing all the different ways they could use gillyweed to prank someone. Then Fred groaned. “We won’t be doing any pranking until we figure out what’s wrong with Ginny.” 

George nodded solemnly. “She’s...not okay. She won’t talk to us.” 

Hadrian inclined his head before looking down at Colin. “Ginny...she’s in your classes, right?” 

The small boy bobbed his head. “Yeah, but she’s really quiet. I think she misses home or something. She spent all of her time writing in some diary and sneaking off to be on her own. I tried talking to her but Jake said it wasn’t worth it because she’s a pureblood and they only want to be with their own but she’s the only pureblood in Gryffindor in our year.” 

Theo, sat on Hadrian’s other side, glanced over with a deep sneer on his face, hazel eyes narrowed slightly. He and Hadrian exchanged a look before the other boy looked away with a disgusted noise, scoffing. Somehow, when he lifted his nose in the air it didn’t look so pretentious. 

Draco, for his part, was still wailing about his spotty skin and had resorted to bargaining with the twins for the counter-curse (which, really, was a waste of time. Hadrian could feel from the force of magic that Fred had used that the spell would wear off in the less than an hour. So long as Draco remained in the room, there would be no further humiliation to speak of _and_ he wouldn’t owe the Twins a favour. But Hadrian wasn’t about to say _that_ ). 

Sally-Anne ran in then, huffing and out of breath yet somehow practically screaming about something Lockhart had done. Hadrian groaned. “What’s he done _now_ ,” he moaned, rolling his eyes. Theo gave him a weird but oddly knowing look while Sally-Anne blinked at him. 

“I, uh, how did you know?” 

He looked at her. “You were just screaming about it.” Then he waved his hand in the air because Draco and the twins had paused their bartering to look at him weirdly too, and thinking about it made his headache worse. “What were you going to say about Lockhart?” 

Sally-Anne brightened again. “Oh! He’s starting a _duelling club_ for all second-years and above! He said it was in response to Malone’s petrification and he wants a way for students to protect themselves from Slytherin’s evil monster.” 

Hadrian could practically feel his fellow Slytherins stiffening at her words, but forced tendrils of calm into the air. Everyone relaxed. “Well, that will be more useless than Quirrell’s lessons last year. Unless there’s another adult helping out there’s no use going.” 

“Professor Lockhart is an _icon_!” squawked Abbott, outraged. “He’s done so much, of _course_ it will be useful.” 

Sue Li nodded. “Yeah, he saved an entire village from a rabid werewolf!” 

“Oh please,” Theo scoffed, “He’s more likely to accidentally obliviate himself.” 

Sally-Anne cleared her throat and assumed Professor Sprout’s trademark position. “ _Anyway,_ the Headmaster stipulated that he run it with another teacher so Professor Snape agreed to help out. It starts for second-years tomorrow.” 

_That_ managed to get everyone’s attention. Theo and Hadrian exchanged a look while Fred finally relented and flicked his wand, vanishing the bright purple spots and red flowers. 

(Hadrian didn’t bother telling the other boy that they would have worn off in ten minutes anyway)

* * *

The room buzzed with chatter as all the students crowded around the long platform, huddled in groups and waiting for their Professors to show up. The doors opened with a bang, revealing Lockhart in bright, maroon robes and knee-high dragonhide boots. The man’s blond hair gleamed and his smile was bright as he made his way onto the platform, turning to them all with an elaborate bow. 

“Welcome,” he started, “to Hogwarts’ very first, and very own Duelling Club, run by none other than the spectacular, five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award Gilderoy Lockhart!” 

The room filled with high-pitched squeals and Lockhart spent the next five minutes winking and waving. Hadrian couldn’t help but think the introduction would have come off less moronic if the man had someone else do it. 

Close by, he could see Blaise taking notes.

“Now, while you’re all undoubtedly bursting with excitement at the thought of extra tutoring from _me_ , there is only so much I can do, so let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape!” 

Snape swept into the room with a furious scowl and billowing robes, a sneer pulling at his lips. Hadrian couldn’t help but snicker quietly with the other Slytherins, narrowly avoiding the hex that the surly man sent his way. “Never fear!” said Lockhart loudly with a wide smile, “I won’t hurt your Potions Master too terribly. No promises, though- sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” 

Nearby, Hadrian noticed Granger standing apart from the crowd, her cheeks pinking as she giggled. He rolled his eyes. 

Lockhart then went through the proper way to hold a wand, and after dropping his own a good three times, Snape took over with an explanation into how one should rotate their wrist for maximum efficiency and speed. The scowl he usually wore in the dungeons was gone, replaced by quiet intensity and a glimpse of passion. Snape was an undoubtedly talented Potions Master, but Hadrian reckoned he’d make an even better Defense professor. Which begged the question; why didn’t Dumbledore give him the job? 

Soon enough, after they’d practised twisting their wrists to make sparks leap ten feet into the air, Snape and Lockhart moved into duelling positions for a demonstration. 

“Now, neither of us will be aiming to kill,” Lockhart started with a shaky, nervous laugh as he eyed his opponent with his bared teeth and sharp eyes. They bowed to each other “On the count of three. One. Two. Three-”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

The room gasped as they watched Lockhart’s cherry wand flip through the air to land placidly in Snape’s grasp. The dark-haired man was smirking, dark eyes gleaming as he twirled his own wand between his fingers. Hadrian and the others Slytherins cheered for their Head of House. 

Hadrian and the others cheered for the Head of House while Lockhart straightened, his face a bright red. Some of the girls from the other Houses were looking at the blond with worried expressions, but the Professor brushed off his robes and gave a beaming smile. 

“And there was the Disarming Charm! A brilliant idea to show everyone, Professor Snape. But- if you don’t mind my saying so- you rather telegraphed your movements so if I’d wanted to, I could have easily dodged that. Ahem,” he cleared his throat at the poisonous look Snape shot him before turning to everyone else. “Now, pair up and try for yourselves. Remember, disarming only.” 

Excited chatters broke out as people paired off to practice. Hadrian went with Theo, Daphne with Tracey and just as Draco went to pair up with Blaise, Lockhart grabbed hold of his shoulder and towed him towards Weasley. Both of them went red in the face, though Draco recovered much quicker and smiled a sly, sharp grin. 

Lockhart also paired Millicent with Granger, which Hadrian could already see as a disaster, and Snape intercepted pairing Crabbe and Goyle together, giving them Finnegan and Thomas. Runcorn, Hadrian noticed, was put with Abbott, and while the hostility between he and the former hadn’t died down any, he knew for a fact that she’d wipe the floor with the bubbly Badger.

Theo soon made sure that Hadrian’s attention was on no-one but him. For the most part, Theo acted the part of a respectable pureblood, remaining aloof most of the time and wholly unruffled the rest. There were times, however, when Hadrian got a glimpse at the person beneath the facade. Theo may be a bookworm and obsessed with complex magical theory, but he knew that there was a part of the tawny-haired boy that longed to be less refined, less controlled. He saw it last year when they faced the life-size chess; Hadrian had never seen the other boy look so alive, so gleeful and obviously delighting in the absolute chaos and brutality of the game. 

As they duelled, that side of Theo made its appearance again. After successfully casting it, they’d quickly abandoned all thoughts of sticking only to the Disarming Charm. Their spells weren’t too complex, no harder than the average third-year spell, but Hadrian had to commend Theo’s ingenuity. Hadrian had to dance around transfigured marbles which rolled at his feet and fireballs shot at his head. 

In retaliation, he cast the softening charm at Theo’s feet, causing the ground to sink in slightly. While the other boy was distracted by that, Hadrian cast Expelliarmus, smirking in triumph as he watched Theo’s fir wand clatter to the floor. 

Snape, stood not too far away, smirked, and Hadrian blinked and wondered whether he was imagining the glimmer of pride in his dark eyes. As Hadrian helped his friend to his feet, looking sharply away from the beaming smile that made his stomach feel all weird, Lockhart was busy praising them from afar, making wild circles with his arms and jumping about like an excitable kangaroo. When he mentioned it, only Tracey laughed with understanding, and Hadrian resolved to educate his group of the animals of the earth. 

There was a sudden shout and Hadrian turned to see Millicent and Granger across the hall. The smaller Gryffindor was red in the face as she flailed about, Millicent having the other girl in a headlock. Draco made a strangled noise of horror and Daphne, Hadrian noticed, flicked her wand and whispered a spell. Not a second later, Granger squealed and her nose swelled with an engorgement charm. 

Snape didn’t even move. 

It took the combined efforts of Parvati Patil, Tracey and a flustered Lockhart to separate the two girls. 

“Okay,” started Lockhart next, clasping his hands together. His wavy hair stood on end, like he’d been electrocuted, and his maroon robes were all creased. “Now, we need two volunteers. Weasley and Finnegan, up you come-”

“Oh no,” interrupted Snape. “I think it’s time we split up the dream team. How about Weasley and...” he surveyed the room, and those his eyes lingered on Hadrian, they moved on to a figure slightly behind him, “Mr Malfoy.” 

The room stirred at that. Weasley and Draco’s rivalry was famous throughout the entire year. It seemed Draco was never content if he wasn’t antagonising someone and the Gryffindor made an easy enough target. Hadrian, more than once, had to stop himself from riling up the hot-headed Lion. 

“Don’t worry Weasel,” Draco sneered as he ascended the steps to the raised platform, “I’ll go easy on you.” 

(Hadrian had to stifle a laugh at how similar the sentiment was to Lockhart’s own)

“Now, now. A clean duel, boys. Disarming charms only. Bow to each other.” 

Draco and Weasley barely leaned their upper bodies over. Weasley had his wand gripped tightly in his fist, likely in an attempt to hold it together. Apparently, he’d done something in the first week to snap it and his parents hadn’t wanted to replace it. If Draco was to be believed, then it was more likely that they didn’t have the money to do so. 

“On my count. One. Two. Three!”

Draco had already pulled his arm above his head on the ‘two’ and by the time that Weasley shifted, Draco had already hit him with a spell that knocked all the breath from the other’s lungs. The crowd gasped, and they watched with wide eyes as the two traded spells. Half of Weasley’s went wide, crashing into the stone walls or backfiring and narrowly escaping him. He did manage to get in a _Rictumsempra_ which hit Draco straight in the chest. While he cackled on the floor, tears welling and spilling over onto his cheeks, Draco shot off a Tarantallegra which hit its mark. Weasley jerked into a complicated Irish jig which made the entire hall erupt into laughter, and did nothing to stem the uncontrollable cackling of Draco. 

Snape quickly intercepted with a Finite Incantatum. He sent both boys a stern glare before retreating and commanding them to continue. They bowed to each other and straightened. 

Once again, Weasley was too slow to move, and Draco arched his wand through the air and shouted “ _Serpensortia_!”

A long, hissing snake shot from the end of his wand to land in front of Weasley, who screeched and tripped over himself to get away from it. 

“ _Imbecilessss_ ,” it hissed, flicking its tail in agitation. Hadrian couldn’t really tell what species it was, or if it belonged to any species in particular, conjured as it was. The room took a collective step back. “ _Who has disssturbed me?_ ”

Even Draco looked pale, talking halting steps back from the hissing snake. Snape stepped forward almost lazily. “Relax, Weasley,” he drawled, “I will deal with it.”

“Let me!” but in Lockhart, shouldering in front of Snape with a wide smile. He swished his wand and a purple jet of light hit the snake, flipping it ten feet in the air and landing it in the middle of the surrounding crowd. Screams rang through the room as everyone rushed to get away from the enlarged serpent, surging and chaotic. 

“ _Ssso much prey. Ssso much food. Thiss one looksss like fire..._ ” 

The snake’s voice was clearer than Norbert- the dragon from last year’s had been- but it still had a strange hissing quality that he’d noticed all snakes had. Lockhart had managed to make the snake ten times its original size and now it loomed over Lily Moon, who was crying hysterically and trembling in place. The snake hadn’t stopped talking about her hair. 

(Were all snakes obsessed with hair?)

Snape was trying to make his way through the crowd, but everyone was too panicked to listen to the man and Lockhart had, unsurprisingly, taken refuge on the other side of the platform, staring up at the giant reptile with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Snape wouldn't make it in time, and the snake's hisses were becoming more and more anticipatory.

Hadrian sighed, rubbed his temples, sighed again and shook his head before stepping forward. He'd get Moon out of there, clear a path for Snape to deal with the snake, and endure the resulting praise and fawning from his year mates.

It didn’t take more than a few well-placed stinging hexes to get the crowd to clear a path to him, and soon enough he found himself by Moon’s side. The girl hadn’t stopped whimpering in fear, brown eyes wide as she stared up at the looming snake. 

“Moon,” he hissed, shaking her shoulders. Her gaze didn’t waver. “Moon- Lily!” that jolted her from her trance, and she looked to him with wide eyes and a quivering lip. “Move. Now. I’ll deal with it.” 

She looked like she was just about to do as he bid, but the snake had grown impatient and coiled itself, ready to lunge. Hadrian spun, eyes narrowed on the snake. 

“Stop,” he commanded, standing tall. The snake paused, its own eyes narrowing and its tongue flicking out to scent the air. No doubt it could taste the fear from the forty-odd students and visibly terrified Defense professor. 

It flicked its tail. “ _A Ssspeaker. You Ssspeak_."

Hadrian felt a coil of irritation. Why were animals always surprised that he could speak? Did he look illiterate? Maybe it was his hair- he hadn’t had as much time this morning to deal with it so maybe it was spiking up again. 

“ _Of course I speak_ ,” he hissed back. “ _You need to stay back. Leave them alone_.”

The snake seemed to consider that for a moment, swaying and hissing unintelligibly, before it settled down. Hadrian was about to call for Snape to banish it but Justin Finch-Fletchley had been pushed to the edge of the crowd, and another surged pushed him even closer to the snake’s tail. Disturbed, the snake reared back up, baring its fangs at the boy and it took Hadrian hissing and threatening it with a giant bird for it to settle back down. 

Satisfied that it no longer posed a threat, he turned, and met the astonished gaze of his year mates and Head of House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know it's a bit of a filler with a few tweaks but of course it needed to happen.  
> The pace does pick up quite a bit next chapter and a lot will be covered so...it'll probably be up in the next ten days or so  
> Oh, also it does get kinda dark towards the middle/end of Hadrian's second year so brace yourselves for that; a bit of a delve into his history and experiences at the orphanage and the resulting trauma.  
> Now, let me just say now; I AM NOT A THERAPIST/PSYCHOLOGIST/SOMEONE QUALIFIED TO DIAGNOSE EVEN A CUT LET ALONE ANY KIND OF MENTAL ILLNESS. This is simply my take on how I believe Hadrian would feel or react given his past and the obstacles he's facing.  
> That said, what do you think? Is there anything specific you'd like to see? Or better yet, is there anything you've picked up on that doesn't quite make sense yet? What do you think it could mean?  
> Drop a comment and a kudo (if you haven't already) and let me know!


	21. Bide Your Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for disclaimer (it's a bit of a spoiler, though not much, really)

_We've survived a passel of things that way, smiling and biding our time, and we've gotten to be experts at surviving.  
_ _\- Margaret Mitchell_

There was a chill about the castle that came from more than the stone walls. Students walked briskly with their heads down, words hushed and eyes wide as they hastened to their destinations. The usual cheer and merriment that preceded the holidays were noticeably absent, replaced with a sort of cold, biting paranoia that held the student body in a vice-grip and refused to let them go. 

A party of seven moved through the halls in silence, faces smooth and impassive as they swept past whispering peers and pointed fingers. They didn’t seem to take notice of anyone else, hardly faltered in their steps as first-years squeaked and jumped out of their way. One, a quivering first-year Hufflepuff, nearly toppled off the edge of the staircase and if it wasn’t for the quick reflexes of the Slytherin, he surely would have fallen to his death. 

The boy didn’t say anything as he set the girl on her feet, safely on the first floor and away from any ledges. It seemed like the entire school had been passing as he did, and they all stopped to watch as he gave the girl a look, watched as the tiny redhead shrank away from those burning emerald eyes. His lip curled slightly with distaste and he turned sharply, not offering the girl or anyone else a spare look as he continued on his way. 

The whispers that had temporarily died down flared anew and a new rumour was born and spread. 

In the dungeons, the group of seven paused momentarily, looking at each other. Tracey spoke first. 

“This is...risky. Kama might not approve.” 

“Worse,” Daphne said, wrinkling her nose. “They’re not really the best company, are they? Surely there are others. Mother is great friends with the Marchbanks’. Rosie is only a third-year but-” 

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” interrupted Millicent defensively, folding her arms. “They’re of respectable standings both in House and in society. We can’t be seen trying to aim too high otherwise Kama _will_ act. We can’t go up against him.” 

Draco scoffed, smoothing a hand through his hair. “Please. Kama wouldn’t do anything to us. We’re the heirs to many important Houses. It’d start a feud.” 

“Get out of your own arse,” Theodore snapped, hazel eyes flashing dangerously. “If Kama wanted to, he could snap your pretty little neck and your father wouldn’t know a damn thing.” He practically snarled as he spoke to the blond, who bristled and glared back. 

Blaise watched with a sharp smile and cunning eyes. 

Hadrian shifted and all eyes shot to him. 

“They’ll be fine.” 

He didn’t say anything else, and as one they turned and started off. 

The Slytherin common room was more excitable than any other at that moment. The students with green and silver-lined robes gathered in groups chatting excitedly, playing Exploding Snap or Gobstones. There was laughter and jokes and giggles and bets; they were _alive_ in a way they seldom got to be in the castle. 

All such signs of life halted as the entrance melted away. Every face turned to the figures climbing through, scrutinising the brush of robes against the polished stone floor, the smooth and impassive faces, the eyes that flicked about. Callista Hadleigh snorted when Theodore came through, and the second year threw her a look of such ferocious disdain that the fifth year flinched back, her smile slipping from her face. 

A considerable number of eyes were trained on the Greengrass heir, half of them appreciative and the other half critical. Her golden hair fell in perfect waves and her teal eyes seemed to sparkle. She moved to stand beside Tracey who was doing her best not to tug at her robes or adjust her hair. She'd never liked being the centre of attention, which always made her wonder why she hung around _Potter_ of all people. 

(Protection was powerful motivation, it seemed. It also didn’t hurt that the boy was as smart as a whip and terrifying as hell) 

The odd pair of Blaise and Millicent stood together, sending each other coded looks. While the whole group were as friendly as you got in Slytherin, Millicent and Blaise were, oddly enough, closest to each other. They both shared a voracious love of law and litigation and- while being opposite in personality- seemed to gel well. It was a combination that had shocked at first but slowly become the norm. 

Draco, never one to be ignored, sniffed loudly and brushed his robes off, as if to disdain the effort it took to step through the entrance. His bright grey eyes swept over the room, lingering on the cluster of students near to the glass that showed the Black Lake. Violet eyes met his and he hastily looked away, willing away the blush that struggled to rise to his cheeks. 

Attention snapped to the final figure, however, who brought up the rear. Apparently, growing it out was the only way to tame his hair, which brushed the tips of his ears. He stepped through the entrance with a grace that seemed unnatural, his robes hardly disturbed and shoes clicking loudly on the stone floor. But there was something in his walk...something about the deliberate way he placed his foot or the prowling movement in his shoulders that made him look more like a predator than a boy. It wasn’t logical, the almost animalistic fear that shot through the room, but more an instinct. It was like the lamb just _knowing_ that danger was nearby. Despite the green of his tie and the curled serpent crest on his robes, he moved like a prowling lion. 

The dark-haired boy didn’t _l_ _ook_ intimidating or particularly dangerous, but he _exuded_ it. Even the way those bright green eyes flicked about the room made him appear threatening. He took another step into the room, and they all took in a collective, quiet breath, which made a sharp, cunning smile to stretch across the boy’s face. 

It was his eyes, though, that caused the room to recoil. 

The boy had green orbs that practically glowed, bright in the dimness of the dungeons. There was no downturn of his lips to display his displeasure, no wrinkling of his nose to convey his disgust- such reactions had been painstakingly coached out of him over the past few months by his two dedicated vassals. No, the boy was, for all intents and purposes, as stoic as any pureblood was taught to be. 

But his eyes- one need only look into them to see the simmering anger, roiling and bubbling just beneath his skin. Those bright, burning orbs did more to convey his dissatisfaction than the rest of his body did. 

There had been whispers, in the month since the disastrous duelling club, about the boy. _A budding Dark Lord_ , they said. _Just like You-Know-Who_ , some claimed. _Worse_ , declared others. The words followed him in the halls, halted when he neared before resuming with climbing volume and pitch when he passed. They were thrown about in his classes, like a macabre game of tennis; a whisper on his left and response on his right, a mutter from the front and a grumble from the back. 

It took a month, but his work of the past year had been thoroughly undone. The name Harry Potter was no longer uttered with reverence, with awe and bashful blushes. Instead, they whispered it with fear, spat it like a slur, hissed it like a hex. 

Hadrian had always known that he was dangerous. He'd known the power at his fingertips, knew that all he had to do was _will_ , all it took was a wish and a word- no- _thought_ and he could do anything he wanted. 

He'd tested it for the first time that fateful night all those years ago and gotten his first taste of blood and victory all at the same time. It was a heady thing, all that power. A heady, addictive thing. From the moment he’d exploded Dudley’s stuffed teddy bear, there had never been any doubt in his mind that he was capable of terrible things. He wasn’t a good person. He didn’t try to be, didn’t _want_ to be. 

But he didn’t want others to know that. 

Madam Ida only knew because she resented how closely he resembled her dead brother. In those first few months, he’d seen the hurt in her face when she spotted him sitting alone, frail and pale in the room he’d been given. At the time, he’d thought that she would be nice to him, that she’d be too blinded by the image of her dead brother lying in that hospital bed to notice how... _odd_ he was. 

He was sloppy. He'd threatened to break his roommate’s arm if he didn’t stop stealing Hadrian’s stuff. The boy had laughed in his face and Hadrian had stared at him, impassive, until a large _crack_ rang through the room and the boy’s laughter turned into howls of pain. 

He hadn’t realised that Madam Ida had been peeking in from the doorway. 

_Every prince ought to desire to be considered clement and not cruel._

He'd read those words from Machiavelli’s book _The Prince_ which he’d flicked through when he’d been sentenced to three weeks in the basement that winter and it had gotten especially cold. The old, ratty blanket he’d been thrown became little more than decoration. At the time, he hadn’t understood half of what the book spoke of, but this one thing he did. 

In a perfect world, the other children would be in awe of him. They'd praise him for his restraint. They'd know that he was infinitely better than them in every way and be in awe that they were _allowed_ to breathe the same air. Madam Ida wouldn’t make him go last in line at dinner so he’d be forced to eat the burnt bits. Travis wouldn’t keep trying to break his glasses. 

And yet, as he sat there in the cold, shivering, squinting to see the small, smudged words on the faded yellow paper, he resolved that he’d never live in a perfect world; it didn’t _exist_. There was only this one and no other, and he’d have to make the best of it. Machiavelli's other seemed much more poignant. 

_It is much safer to be feared than loved._

Hadrian paused where he was in the common room with dozens of eyes fixed to him and the words ringing in his ears. There was fear in those eyes, fear and weariness and caution, and it made him want to _grin_. 

They didn’t go to their usual corner, making their way instead to a cluster of sixth years. Higgs and Pucey were sat on a couch, sides pressed into each other while Farley and Flint sat in different chairs around a low coffee table. There was an abandoned game of Exploding Snap and a few empty bottles of butterbeer. 

“You don’t mind,” he said softly, gesturing to the empty seats. His vassals ducked their heads instantly, lowering their eyes. Farley glared at them, but Daphne bared her teeth and the older girl averted her gaze. Flint met his eyes. 

The older boy grunted, like he was wont to do, but etiquette dictated he at least string a few words together. “Have at it,” he mumbled, before refocusing on his hand. Hadrian inclined his head and took his seat, watching with glittering eyes as his group settled themselves around him. Theo instantly claimed the seat at his side and Draco folded himself onto the floor by his feet, closest to the fire. Blaise sprawled out on the rug beside the blond, though his back rested against the seat that Tracey shared with Daphne. Millicent sat in the seat closest to Flint, and Hadrian noted her heated cheeks but said nothing of it. 

Slowly, sound returned to the room, though everyone’s voice seemed carefully modulated to overhear any particularly interesting conversations. 

Tracey was the first one of their group to speak. “Is...is that on self-transfiguration?” she blinked at the book in Farley’s lap. The sixth-year bristled slightly before relaxing. She inclined her head. “I’ve been thinking of reading up on it but it’s a bit complicated at the moment. I haven’t been able to transfigure multiple objects yet, but I did manage to make two matchsticks turn into needles yesterday. Professor McGonagall was very impressed.” 

Millicent snorted at that but Farley looked interested, and soon the two had delved into a conversation about the Gamp’s Laws. 

Slowly, sound returned to the common room, conversations restarted with a tentative hush. 

Terence Higgs settled back into his seat, studiously ignoring the heat of Adrian at his side in favour of regarding the newcomers. Terence couldn’t pretend that a stab of fear hadn’t shot through him when the boy had walked in. It had been tempered, though, by an excitement that he hadn’t felt since the first time he’d ridden his broom. 

Many people didn’t think he belonged to the House of Snakes; he’d never been particularly ambitious or cunning, preferred to work for what he had rather than steal or con his way into getting it. 

Many people were wrong. 

This particular scenario had been months in the making. When Lady Malfoy had first approached he and Adrien’s parents about their debt to the House of Black, he’d been furious beyond belief. The bond was ancient and tenuous at best, long forgotten by everyone save the blond witch. He couldn’t think about why she could possibly be calling it in now. What need did she, a Black by blood and a Malfoy by marriage, have need of two modest Houses that were neither Ancient nor Noble? 

Still, they hadn’t been able to refuse. He'd been simultaneously horrified and relieved when it was revealed that he’d be in service to Potter of all people. Even as a first-year, the younger boy had unnerved Terrence terribly. Marcus found he and his group of heirs amusing for some reason, and there was no denying that the rumours of James Potter’s prowess on a broom proved to breed true, but there was something about the other boy’s intense silence and sparkling eyes that made Terrence want to hide. 

Not to mention the _wandless bloody magic_. 

Over the last few months, he and Adrian had been tutoring the boy in etiquette. Really, it was surprising that he’d had no formal education in it yet, but there were a few things that were so painfully... _muggle_ that they’d worked had to train out of him. Now, a few short months later, and the boy was hardly distinguishable from his peers as having never grown up in the Wizarding World. 

It had been in those lessons that Terrence had started to carefully sew the seeds. Initially, they’d joked about how cold the dungeons were, that the Headmaster thought they really were cold-blooded snakes and purposefully kept the fireplaces small and lacking in warmth. Terrence had laughed and made an offhand remark about their place in the common room being a good spot for observation (as had been the topic for the day) and keeping warm. 

On another day, he made comments on Kama’s place in the common room, closest to the window that showed the Lake but also right by the largest fireplace and with an unobstructed view of the common room entrance. Hadrian had looked up from where he was carefully eating the red lentil soup (disgusting, in Terrence’s opinion, but they’d been practising table manners and the like). “How did you get your fireplace?” 

Terrence had tried to hide his grin with his napkin, but the look Adrian sent him showed that it hadn’t quite worked. 

“Duels, mostly. We had to challenge a few fifth years when we were in our fourth.” 

Hadrian had hummed, and that had been that. 

And then the boy turned out to be a _parseltongue_. Hadrian was more than just the Black Heir now; he was _Slytherin’s_ Heir. If his prospects had been good before, they would be absolutely _amazing_ now. 

Terrence had never been so grateful to be a vassal of the boy’s. A bit of prodding, a little mentoring, and he could very well be the most powerful person in all of Britain. He could more be more powerful than _Dumbledore_. 

Hadrian looked at him then, his emerald eyes narrowed and his head cocked to the side like was listening to something. Terrence looked away, fighting the urge to fidget and secretly taking comfort in the warmth of Adrian at his side. The boy was smart but he couldn’t know what he was thinking. For all his power, he was still just a second year, Slytherin’s Heir or not. 

Many people thought that Terrence didn’t belong in Slytherin House, but he’d prove them wrong and Hadrian would be his ticket. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Their little study group, which most of their year group used to turn up to, now consisted of a choice few. The Slytherins, of course, went where Hadrian did. Terry Boot and Michael Corner from Ravenclaw still came, but none of the girls from their House, and of the Hufflepuffs it was only Sally-Anne and a tentative Susan Bones who put in an appearance every now-and-then. 

Hadrian struggled not to let the fury that broiled inside of him show, instead pasting a smile onto his face when Colin pushed the door open and dragged in his fellow first-year Gryffindor friend. Jake Batts was a rather round boy, not unlike Neville Longbottom in the year above him. He had watery eyes and hair like straw with a large, bulbous nose. He looked uncomfortable as he shuffled in behind Colin who was all bright smiles and bouncing with excitement like always. 

“I’m telling you, Jake,” Colin was saying as he made his way over. “Harry wouldn’t do that. He’s really kind and even got McLaggen off my back. Besides, he _helped_ her, not pushed her off. The portraits all say the same thing.” 

Batts scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, apart from the Fat Lady!” he hissed back, though his voice carried across the room. The few conversations (Terry and Tracey had their heads buried in another book and Theo was arguing with Sally-Anne about the possibility of nifflers being an evolved, magical version of muggle racoons) halted and all eyes turned to the two Gryffindors. The boys didn’t seem to notice. “She says that Potter tried to throw her off and it was Hogwarts’ magic that stopped her from plummeting to her death!” 

“Oh please,” Colin rolled his eyes. “The Fat Lady is a sensationalist sap. She'd say that Harry joined Grindelwald if she could get away with it.” 

Hadrian rose a brow at that. Colin wasn’t one to disdain others so obviously, least of all his friends. Apparently, his Gryffindor nobility made him defend the older boy’s honour which- while unnecessary- was touching. 

Batts flushed an angry red colour and as he looked about, noted that everyone was looking at him. His flush deepened. “Why did you even bring me here? It’s full of slimy Slytherins.” 

“Not sure if you noticed, but blue is a different colour to green and yellow is its total opposite.” Colin pointed at Boot and Bones. “Besides, you were having trouble with the levitation spell and Theo promised to help me with my Charms essay so I'm sure he won’t have any problem helping with that.” 

Hadrian looked over to where his friends sat (and yes, he was willing to concede that if there was anyone on this planet that qualified as his friends it would be Sally-Anne and Theo) and noticed that the tawny-haired brunet had a strange look in his eye. Sat side-by-side, Hadrian couldn’t help but compare his two friends. Sally-Anne was beautiful in the same way that oleanders and wild cats were- pretty and unassumingly deadly. Theodore, on the other hand, was more obvious in his danger, darker than the golden-haired girl and ultimately more bloodthirsty. Hadrian found himself noticing the way Theo’s neck curved and his (objectively) attractive jawline. 

Theo met his eyes and a light blush stained his cheeks. Hadrian wondered whether he was embarrassed at how close he and Sally-Anne was sitting or if the other boy wanted to _date_ her. He looked away, clenching his jaw and trying his best not to let his sudden anger show. 

The two Gryffindors made their way over to Theo was just as Terry jumped up and rushed over. Hadrian sat forward. 

“I think I’ve found something,” the Ravenclaw said, setting down a bunch of scrolls. Tracey strolled over at a more leisurely pace and as she passed the Gryffindor boys, they shrank away. Colin had made the mistake once of going to Tracey for help with Transfiguration and- while the girl was brilliant in class- she made a horrible teacher. She hadn’t been ‘helping’ for more than ten minutes before she threatened to brand the Transfiguration alphabet onto his forehead so he'd remember it easier. Theo had promptly taken the small Gryffindor away and explained in a less murderous tone. 

“I wrote to my cousin who works in the Archives department of the Ministry. He’s writing a paper on Grindelwald and the crossover with the muggle war and he recognised the Perks name. The brother- Everette- they've got a record of him being killed by Grindelwald for refusing to join his cause. His sister Lilliana was married by then to Hardwin Potter and they’d moved to France and were in hiding.” 

Hadrian sat up, interesting. “Potter?” 

Terry nodded, but it was Tracey who spoke. “Yes. You may have some family on the continent. My mother did some research when she was younger, and her research partner attended Beauxbatons. She was Lyra _Potier_ , though. Maybe they changed their name?” 

Hadrian felt his heart hammer in his chest. He wouldn’t get his hopes up, but there was the chance that he had family still, actual _alive_ family that shared his name as well as blood. He licked his lips nervously. 

“Is there any way to get into contact with them? Does the Ministry have any records?” 

“They probably don’t. Officially, you’re supposed to inform your Ministry when you move to a new country so they know how to contact you about your estate and the like, but nobody really does that.” 

Terry bobbed his head. “Yeah, especially since it was during a war. If they were running from Grindelwald, then they certainly weren’t going to leave a paper trail.” 

“So... Sally-Anne and I are related?” 

“Yes, but it’s distant and quite removed. You’ll find that just about every pureblood family is related in some way.” Hadrian hummed at that, before slanting a quick look over at Theo and Sally-Anne. The brunet was busy showing Batts the correct way to flick his wand. “We can try and find out some more if you’d like. I can write to Mum and see if she’s still in contact with Lyra Potier.” 

Hadrian’s gaze slipped over to Sally-Anne with her shimmering, golden hair and cherubic cheeks. 

“Yes, do that.”

* * *

Severus stifled the urge to heave a heavy sigh, rapping on the door before him. There was a second’s wait before the expected voice called out for him to enter. 

He swept in, a scowl fixed firmly to his face and faltered only slightly in his steps when he saw the figure already sitting opposite the Headmaster. Hadrian turned and regarded him with cool eyes, and he couldn’t help but notice how much more refined the boy appeared to be. Normally, Severus could tell how the boy was feeling or what he was thinking by the fire in his eyes or the set of his mouth. Higgs and Pucey seemed to have done a good job. 

“Headmaster,” he said tersely, yanking his gaze from his student and to the old man reclined behind the large, ornate desk. 

“Ah, Professor Snape, here you are. Please, have a seat. I felt it prudent that, as Harry’s Head of House, you were present for this discussion.” 

Severus did as he was told. “And what exactly is this discussion about?” 

Albus sighed and sat forward. “The holidays. I noticed that Harry put his name down to leave.” Severus blinked at him. 

Hadrian cleared his throat and they both looked at him. “Yes, Headmaster,” he started demurely. “I was invited by Aunt Cissa to visit for the Yule holidays.” Severus noticed the slight widening of the Headmaster’s eyes. “I...I didn’t think it would be a problem. She was so lovely this summer and I enjoyed getting to know some of my family.” 

Albus was silent for a while before he steepled his fingers beneath his chin and set those twinkling blue eyes firmly on the boy. “I’m afraid that you won’t be leaving the castle this Christmas, Harry. It simply isn’t safe.” He paused, watching the boy closely. “Can we speak candidly, my boy?” 

Hadrian inclined his head. “Of course, Headmaster.” 

Albus nodded. “Good. Then I’m sure you are aware of what Lord Voldemort’s followers called themselves.” Hadrian inclined his head again. “And I am also sure that it hasn’t escaped you- given the House you were Sorted into- of who Lucius Malfoy was? What he has branded onto his arm?” 

Severus struggled not to flinch at that, clenching his fists into the fabric of his robes. He couldn’t help from sucking in a sharp breath, though, and Hadrian glanced at him with narrowed eyes before looking away. Severus seethed and worked on occluding to stop himself from reaching for his wand. 

“I am well aware of the allegations levelled at Lord Malfoy, Headmaster. But he said he was forced under the Imperious Curse and was found not guilty in front of the Wizengamot.” 

“Not guilty is not the same thing as innocent.” 

“Then perhaps that is a problem to be taken up with the Minister and other oligarchic figures, Headmaster,” Hadrian snapped back. _There_ was the fire that always seemed to lurk in the boy’s eyes and, if Severus squinted, he could make out the faint mist of the Obscurial hanging in the air. He shot the Headmaster a sharp look, to which the old man simply smiled and sat back. 

“Yes, it is certainly an interesting debate to be had, my boy. Unfortunately, the fact stands that you will not be going to Malfoy Manor for Christmas. As your magical guardian, I have deemed it unsafe and must insist you remain in the castle. For your safety, you understand.” 

Severus stared at the man in shock, watched the old, meddling goat watch Hadrian who was, in turn, staring at him with such an intense look that Severus had to wonder whether he was trying to explode the old man’s head. 

There was a tense, heavy silence in the room for several moments before Hadrian sniffed and stood. 

“Fine,” he said, and his voice was as smooth as his face. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and Severus noticed that the strands were waving idly, as if there was a breeze in the room disturbing them. 

(A quick glance at the windows showed them to be closed, however.) 

“I feel I must remind you, Headmaster, that my name is _Hadrian_ , and if you have trouble in your old age remembering it then you can call me Mr Potter-Black.” 

Then the boy swept out with almost as much dramatic flair as Lockhart and the door to the office slammed shut behind him. 

Severus sat stunned in his seat for a moment before standing and turning to the Headmaster. “You will not gain his favour by restricting him, Albus. It will only push him further away.” 

Albus hummed, unwrapping a lemon drop. “I can deal with that later. For now, it is imperative that the Dark don’t get their claws into him. He is already in their House, he’s among their children. If we lose Harry to them then there is no hope for the Wizarding World.” 

Severus gritted his teeth. Was the old man really so blind? “He is more than just the Boy-Who-Lived,” he grits out. “At the moment he is a twelve-year-old orphan longing for familial connections. Don’t turn him into a pawn. It won’t work.” 

Albus smiled faintly and Severus couldn’t stop the well of disgust rising in his throat, so he turned on his heel and left. 

He knew before he got to his office that there was someone in there. He'd felt the wards trill and admit them. Severus sighed and pushed open his door, flicking a stinging hex in the boy’s direction. The expected yelp didn’t come, and he turned. 

Severus almost didn’t recognise the boy. He could hardly be seen beyond the thick, swirling mass of fog that surrounded him. The Obscurus had made its appearance once again and seemed to have commandeered the boy’s attention. At least Hadrian had had the presence of mind not to go where there would be other students. Knowledge of Obscurials was limited at best, but Severus knew that Old Families were very much aware of their existence _and_ their power. 

“Hadrian,” he started in a low, soothing voice. The boy didn’t so much as twitch. “Hadrian, I need you to focus on my voice. That’s it, focus on me. Focus on my voice. We’re going to breathe together, slowly.” 

Severus edged closer, hands outstretched like he was trying to tame a wild, trapped animal. Hadrian’s eyes were still a milky white, but they seemed to be clearing somewhat. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, and his clenched fists trembled. The malevolent magic hovering about him had slowed somewhat, but they were still sharp and deadly, and as Severus got closer, he could feel the icy drip of fear slide down his spine. It was like standing beside a slightly docile Dementor. 

He coached the boy through some deep breathing, slowing the heaving of his chest. It took a while, perhaps half-an-hour, before Hadrian’s eyes cleared completely and the last of the magic in the air dissipated. 

Finally, Hadrian blinked up at him, and Severus was surprised to see a blush creep across his cheeks. “Thank you,” he said stiffly, practically jumping up from behind Severus’ desk. Severus rose from where he’d been kneeling beside the boy, watching as Hadrian made his way to the door. He wanted to grab the boy, to force him to sit and down and tell him _why_ this had happened, how it could be that the most famous boy in their world was also the most abused.

“If you need to talk," he said instead, watching as the boy paused, "If there's anything you need, I’ll be here.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

“Justin’s been so worried that he’s going to end up like Roger,” a voice whispered. “He let slip to Potter that he was muggle-born a few months ago and now he’s terrified.” 

Hadrian clenched his jaw and dug his fingers into the earth. They were supposed to be putting socks and scarves on the baby Mandrakes but he’d coiled his magic around the annoying little thing when they’d started and hadn’t had to deal with half the fuss that the rest did. Now, he was bored and listening in to others’ conversations. 

There was a derisive huff and he spotted Susan Bones throw an angry look at the boy who’d spoken. 

_(Macmillan. Would he ever be useful, or can Hadrian do as he pleases to the boy? He should ask Theo- Sally-Anne was likely to disapprove)_

“Hadrian isn’t a bad person, Ernie. He _saved_ Lily and Justin just got in the way. Any fool with eyes could see that.” 

“Yeah, but he could have just staged it. He’s a _parselmouth_ _,_ Susan. That's a Dark ability. He’ll be the next Dark Lord.” 

“That’s ridiculous!” cried Sally-Anne who had been working diligently with her Mandrakes (the golden-haired girl managed to do _four_ of the little beasts. They only seemed to quiet for her.) “Harry _killed_ the last Dark Lord. Why would he become the next?” 

“Well, we don’t know how he did it, do we?” argued Macmillan. “For all we know, he could have just been eliminating the competition.” 

“ _He was one!”_

Macmillan shook his head and got back to his work. “You never know with Dark wizards. They're born that way, did you know? Dad says they can’t help themselves and they ought to have been drowned at birth.” 

The dirt beside Macmillan exploded, and while Hadrian could feel the ugly thing inside of him trying to worm its way out and cripple the boy in some way, he knew he still had control. 

Sally-Anne whipped her wand out and held it to Macmillan’s throat. The Mandrakes she’d been attending to suddenly squealed. Her eyes seemed to burn with intensity as she pushed the tip of her wand against his Adam's apple. He was leaning over the dirt bed, trying to get away, but she kept pushing closer. 

“If I ever hear you say something like that again,” she said, and her voice was as clear as bells, “I will hex you so badly that the infirmary becomes your second home.” 

The class had gone silent, stunned at the sudden change in the normally bubbly and happy girl. Macmillan babbled in response. 

“What all this ruckus- _Sally-Anne!”_ gasped Professor Sprout. Sally-Anne pulled away from her Housemate slowly, tucking her wand into the holster Hadrian had gotten her last year. She didn’t even look sorry as she turned to face her Head of House, chin jutted out stubbornly. 

“Yes, Professor?” 

Sprout spluttered for a few seconds before she shouted, “Ten points from Hufflepuff! I do not accept this sort of behaviour in my greenhouses!” 

Sally-Anne didn’t even flinch. Instead of responding, she threw Macmillan a nasty look before seeing to her wailing Mandrakes. 

The rest of Herbology passed uneventfully, though Draco had made a show of ‘accidentally’ knocking Macmillan into the dirt bed after casting a sticking charm to his skin. The Hufflepuff ended up looking like some kind of mud monster when he pulled himself out, and the Slytherins all left chortling and snickering. 

They had Transfiguration next, and only five minutes to make it to the fourth floor but it would take at least that long to get to the nearest bathroom and wash their hands. Hadrian waved off their concerns and beckoned to them. “I know a shortcut.” Then he pulled aside the tapestry hanging on the wall and ducked through. 

He'd discovered much of Hogwarts’ secrets last year when his mind had been too restless for sleep. Before he’d got his father’s cloak, he’d needed a way to hide from Filch and his demonic cat and it had been pure luck that he’d fallen into this secret passageway and narrowly escaped detection. 

They came out on the third floor where there were a set of toilets nestled in right beside a staircase that Hadrian had noticed never moved on Thursdays. If they were quick, they could make it to Transfiguration only a minute late. 

Draco was loudly talking about writing to his father and asking whether he knew of any other secret passageways in the castle and Theo was sniping back about Draco relying on others to solve things for him. They all tumbled out of the passageway and straight into a chortling Peeves. 

“Ooh! Well if it isn’t little Potty and friends,” the poltergeist giggled, swooping in the air above them. Hadrian scowled and noticed how red Draco’s cheeks had gotten. 

(Wasn’t that the name the blond had taken to calling him at the start of their first year?) 

“Bugger off, Peeves,” snapped Tracey and she flicked her wand into her hands. Peeves recoiled before a grin spread across his translucent face and he followed them down the hall. They turned the corner and, in his haste, Hadrian narrowly avoided tripping over something that lay right in the way. 

Draco, still babbling about his father, didn’t notice this and ran right into him, knocking the both of them over. Peeves was laughing loudly and causing a ruckus before he went suddenly silent. 

Irritated, Hadrian pushed Draco off him and turned around before freezing himself. It wasn’t a loose brick or a random object that he’d tripped over; it was a person. Their skin was pale, deathly pale, and their arms were frozen ahead of them. At first, Hadrian thought the red that spread out around their head was blood, but it turned out to be hair, and dread made his stomach feel like it had dropped out under him. 

Lily Moon lay on the floor before him, her blue eyes wide and mouth agape in horror. It was just like Malone, except this time, floating six inches away, was a black and smoky figure with its head hanging nearly all the way off. It took Hadrian a moment to realise that it was a ghost (had been a ghost?), the ghost for Gryffindor, Nearly Headless Nick. 

Peeves, who’d frozen in the air like _he’d_ been the one petrified, suddenly opened his mouth and shrieked. “ _ATTACK! ATTACK! NO GHOST OR PERSON IS SAFE! POTTER HAS STRUCK AGAIN! THE HEIR HAS CLAIMED ITS NEXT VICTIM!”_

Doors crashed open and the corridor was suddenly flooded. Students swarmed around them, pushing Hadrian and his friends aside and even nearly trampling Moon. A loud cry went up, mingling with Peeves’ wails. 

Hadrian tried to inch away, tried to find Theo or Draco or _someone_ but he was boxed in on all sides. Suddenly, there was a finger being pointed at him. “You!” they screeched, and all eyes swung to him. “You did this to her!” 

He tried to suppress his scowl. It would do him no favours, not now that everyone was looking at him, and it didn’t help that she was muggle-born too. “I didn’t do anything to her, Granger,” he said evenly. “I _found_ her. I’ve been in class all day. Just ask Professor Sprout.” 

The bushy-haired girl shook her head. “No, you did this to her because she’s a muggle-born and you hate us! Dumbledore should expel you and snap your wand!” 

At that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop a curl of his magic lashing across the space between them. It curled around the girl’s throat, tight, crushing. It wanted to _destroy_ her. It wanted to make her _beg_. This was insolence, insolence from unworthy vermin that dared threaten him. She didn’t deserve magic, didn’t deserve to _live_. 

“Enough!” barked a familiar voice. Hadrian watched Professor McGonagall storm onto the scene. She halted when she saw Moon’s petrified body and Nearly Headless Nick’s floating form before ushering the students back to their class. 

Ronald Weasley pushed his way to the front, cheeks flushed red and fists clenched at his sides. He stood slightly in front of Granger and every muscle of his body seemed to be tensed. “Potter did this, Professor! He got to Moon and he was hurting Hermione!” 

McGonagall’s sharp, cat-like eyes zeroed in on him almost immediately, and he watched her lips press into a flat line. “Potter, I think it’s best if you-” 

“It wasn’t him, professor!” cut in Millicent, indignant. Hadrian had noticed that, ever since the fiasco with Quirrell and the stone at the end of their first year, the girl had developed a vehement dislike of the Transfiguration professor. “We were just coming from Herbology and found him like that. Of course, I don’t expect _you_ to take our word for it.” 

McGonagall’s brows furrowed and her lips practically disappeared. Pressed together as they were, he didn’t know but he managed to hear the teacher mutter “ _How dare she?_ ” but since nobody else said anything, he didn’t either. 

“Still, in light of recent events, it would be best if you followed me to the Headmaster’s office.” 

“Recent events?” Theo snorted, and Hadrian noticed that he rested casually against the wall. His eyes practically burned, though. “Are you referring to his recently revealed status as a parseltongue?” 

McGonagall went red at that, but in true Gryffindor fashion, she tipped her chin up. “And if I am?” she rose a sharp brow. “It is a well-known fact that Slytherin was a parseltongue and that the ability is hereditary. If Potter can speak parseltongue, then Potter must be the Heir.” 

Tracey made a vague noise of disgust. “Actually, Professor, you’ll find that Hadrian’s great-great-grandfather Edwin Potter married Dahlia Shafiq whose family was originally from India. The trait is much more common over there, and it would not be so remiss to imagine that a latent gene, when combined with Lily Potter’s fresh blood as a muggle-born, was activated in Hadrian. 

“Hadrian could be as much the Heir as Macmillan or Longbottom who both have relatively recent connections to the House of Shafiq or even the Patil twins who have much stronger ties to India. Magic is funny like that, you know.” 

Hadrian refrained from pointing out that he was the only one who could actually _speak_ parseltongue because Tracey seemed to have accomplished her goal of bombarding the Head of Gryffindor with somewhat irrelevant facts. 

They watched the woman bluster for a while before Peeves, who’d been hovering silently, decided to chip in. 

_“Not Potter but a Black, this one,_   
_won’t stop ‘til the job is done!_   
_You’re killing off students you think it’s good fun,_   
_the terror’s not ended, it’s only begun!”_

“ _Silence_!” McGonagall screeched, and her voice echoed off the stone walls. Peeves cackled and zoomed into the floor, and it was only by tracking the annoying poltergeist’s movements that Hadrian noticed a line of spiders making their way towards one of the windows. 

“Potter, you will follow me to the Headmaster’s office and the rest of you will be getting to your common room.” 

“By ourselves!” ejaculated Draco, looking aghast. His face was paler than usual. “There’s a monster on the loose! Another student _and_ a ghost have been petrified!” 

McGonagall sniffed and offered a tight-lipped smile, even as something like satisfaction glimmered in her eyes. 

(Hadrian privately thought that she made a rather poor Deputy Headmistress if she had such obvious disdain for certain students- but then again Dumbledore was Headmaster) 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Mr Malfoy. You are all excused from classes for the rest of the day.” She beckoned to Hadrian to follow her, which he did, after throwing a look at the others. Theo and Daphne offered him a solemn nod while Draco twisted his face and started loudly talking about writing to his father about this. Hadrian had no doubt that Lord Malfoy would find a way of spinning this to his advantage. 

For the second time that month, Hadrian made his way up to the Headmaster’s office, not the least surprised when McGonagall said the name of a muggle sweet. She didn’t follow him up, and when he entered the office, he found it was empty. 

It was the first time he’d been alone in the Headmaster’s office, and the urge to snoop was strong. The whizzing and whirring devices still puffed merrily on his desk and lining the various bookcases. Even from a distance, Hadrian could make out a title of a few from their spines, ranging from complex magical theory to muggle fairy tales. Dumbledore may put on a foolish, eccentric front for the public, but Hadrian knew the man was sharper than possibly anybody else in magical Britain and would have very interesting material to read. If he could just get one book... 

His attention was yanked away by a weird sound, like a cross between a gag and a chirp. He turned to see an ugly, sickly-looking thing barely holding on to a golden perch. It stared at him with beady black eyes, frail head cocked. As they stared at each other, Hadrian felt his old resentment at Dumbledore stir in his chest. 

Suddenly, he was remembering that feeling he’d had last year when the Headmaster had paid him a visit at the orphanage, how he’d made him return there, how he’d stopped him from going to Malfoy Manor for Yule. 

He shook his head and abandoned those thoughts. He didn’t know why they’d chosen to make an appearance now- he usually had them tucked carefully away, to be examined only in the hours when the rest of the castle was asleep and his brain wouldn’t turn off. 

The thing (bird, perhaps) made a noise and an abortive movement with what looked like feather-less wings before bursting into flames. 

It was so sudden, and caught him off guard, that he whipped his wand into his hands and jumped back, startled. Just then, the door swung open and the Headmaster swept in with his long white beard and lilac robes. With how the old man dressed, Hadrian wondered whether he and Lockhart shared ideas. 

“Ah, Hadrian, back so soon?” smiled the Headmaster as he made his way over to his desk, though his eyes seemed to linger slightly on his wand. Hadrian’s gaze jumped between the man and the pile of feathers below the perch. Should he mention it? Would he look guilty if he did, if he didn’t? 

“Um, sir- your... _bird?_ It just-” he paused and wrangled his tongue under control. “It caught fire and exploded.” 

Dumbledore blinked at him for a moment before turning to regard the perch. Then the man nodded and turned back to shuffling papers around on his desk. “Ah, yes. About time, too. It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day, my boy. He's been looking terrible for weeks now. Perhaps a reflection of the old man.” Here, Dumbledore tried for a weak laugh, but Hadrian only blinked at him before understanding dawned. 

“It’s a _phoenix_ ,” he breathed, looking back at the bunch of feathers in a new light. Sure enough, he could make out a head peeking out, just as ugly as before but less wrinkled and pinker. The small thing gave a soft trill of phoenix-song. “I’ve read about them. They're supposed to unearth a person’s loyalty, aren’t they?” 

Dumbledore gave him a considering look. “Yes. Where did you read that? They’re more known for the healing ability of their tears and capability of carrying immensely heavy loads.” 

Hadrian averted his eyes. “Oh, I read around. Sally-Anne is very fond of all creatures, you see, and she loves to drag me into all kinds of discussions. She was talking with Theo about the possibility of racoons being the muggle version of nifflers, though it’s more likely to be magpies, if we disregard that it’s a bird.” 

The slight suspicion that Hadrian had seen lingering around Dumbledore’s eyes lightened the longer he spoke, and by the end the man’s eyes were back to twinkling and he was laughing. 

“Yes, yes, an interesting idea, my boy. Perhaps we should sit down sometime and discuss it, hm?” Hadrian didn’t say anything to that. “Now, I believe you were sent here for a reason?” 

Hadrian cleared his throat, and just as he was about to speak, the door to the Headmaster’s office burst open. Professor Sprout stood there, looking stern. “Now, Albus,” she started in her familiar, no-nonsense tone. A look at the Headmaster showed even him to be quite taken aback by it. “I won’t have such silly accusations levelled at this young man. Potter-Black, I am sure, did _nothing_ wrong. He didn’t have the time for it!” 

Dumbledore smiled. “Well, I’m sure that-” 

“This school’s obsession with pointing fingers will be the ruin of us! How can we expect a second-year student to perform such advanced magic to actually petrify someone? And a ghost, to boot!” 

“Now, the evidence suggests-” 

“That some manner of magical creature has breached the safety of our walls- _again!-_ and we as the sworn protectors of its inhabitants must find and vanquish it! I am as saddened and enraged as any Head of House would be but to accuse without proof! Is it not innocent until proven guilty, anymore, Albus? I will see to it that Mr Malone and Miss Moon are revived but I _will not_ stand by as students and staff- _staff, Albus! -_ accuse someone before proving beyond reasonable doubt that they are the perpetrator!” 

Hadrian stared almost agape at the furious woman. He'd never thought too much of the Head of Hufflepuff beyond appreciating her for continually using his full name when speaking or referring to him. Nobody else did, hell, _he_ hardly remembered, but Professor Sproat did. Beyond that, though, their interaction was minimal. He was as polite and attentive in her lessons as he was Astronomy and History of Magic and all the others that didn’t require much concentration. 

He never could have imagined that she would come to his defence like this, though. And against the Headmaster, no less! She seemed to have truly taken up the mantle of Helga Hufflepuff. 

(Distantly, Hadrian thought that if the world was run by Hufflepuffs, it would be a much fairer place) 

Dumbledore blinked up at his Head of House before smiling, eyes twinkling ever brighter. “Well, I certainly agree with everything you’ve said, Pomona, and if you’d given me a chance I would have told you that the evidence suggests only a mage of power surpassing even me would manage to petrify so thoroughly, and thus it could not be Hadrian. I appreciate your endorsement, however, and am relieved to know you continue to be brilliantly impartial and a testament to your House.” 

Hadrian watched Professor Sprout’s cheeks darken and her fists fall from her waist. She blinked at her employer for a moment before sniffing and pushing a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. 

“Well,” she said uncertainly, shoulders dropping. She nodded at the Headmaster and started out but paused on the threshold. “If you ever need anything, Mr Potter-Black...” 

Hadrian smiled at her, and it was perhaps the closest genuine smile he’d mustered up in ages. “Thank you, Professor.” 

There was a beat of silence in the office after the Hufflepuff left. Who would have thought that, with a Lion and a Snake in the room, it would be the Badger that got its claws out? 

“Now,” started Dumbledore, and the soft smile he’d worn was slowly slipping from his face. “While your ability was quite a shock, I have no doubt that you are not the cause of these attacks. But perhaps there is something you would like to share with me?” 

Hadrian thought about the crack in the impervious and warded window, of the voices he’d heard on Halloween, of Moon’s halo of hair behind the charred ghost and the trail of spiders escaping from the castle. 

“No, Headmaster,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. 

* * *

Moon and Nearly Headless Nick’s petrification seemed to have kicked the rest of the school into a frenzy. If their behaviour before was distasteful, now it was almost unbearable. They seemed, curiously enough, more concerned with the state of Nearly Headless Nick than the muggle-born Gryffindor girl. After all, what could harm someone that was already dead? 

The looks Hadrian got grew worse, and the bolder Gryffindors took to trying to hex him in the corridors, though that was quickly put to an end after he returned McLaggen’s _Cantis_ (the Stinging Hex) with an overpowered _Calvorio_ (the Hair Loss Curse). Madam Pomfrey had been able to grow back his eyelashes and eyebrows, but the older boy spent the two days it took to order hair-growth potions bald. 

Her vehement dislike of Hadrian appeared to have bought Granger some friends as she’d taken to walking around school with Weasley, Finnegan and Thomas who all sneered at the Slytherins when they passed. 

It nearly broke into a full-out duel when Granger bumped Tracey in the hall and Weasley and Finnegan brushed Crabbe and Goyle, who’d taken to shadowing Draco since the end of last year. The bespectacled girl didn’t look like much of a threat, but she had a wicked repertoire of spells at her disposal and, unlike Granger, wasn’t afraid about branching into the more questionable ones. 

Daphne and a reluctant Millicent had dragged their friend away while Theo and Draco shot Stinging Hexes at the Gryffindors. 

They weren’t really Hadrian’s main concern, though. He'd dealt with being the school’s appointed villain for over a month, now, and was no longer fazed by sneers and jeers. He’d even come to appreciate how quickly a path cleared for him in the halls- it made getting from class to class much easier. 

No, his focus was on Theodore, who grew steadily quieter and more reserved as the holidays drew nearer. It wouldn’t have been especially notable, with how quiet the boy naturally was, but Hadrian noticed and didn’t like it. 

It was a week before the break and they’d found a rare moment where it was just the two of them. Theo had a book open on his lap but he wasn’t reading it; he’d been staring at the page a whole two minutes longer than it usually took him to read. 

(Hadrian knew this, of course, because he’d studied the other boy well last year. And yes, he’d factored in the fact that Theo’s reading material had gotten more advanced- he wasn’t _stupid_.) 

“Alright,” he said, closing his own book. “Talk to me.” It was as much a request as it was a command, but Hadrian wasn’t in the habit of asking questions. Theo looked up at him. 

“It’s...family business.” 

Hadrian pursed his lips. Everyone in Slytherin knew that invoking the sacred term ‘family business’ bought you an instant snooping pass, but Hadrian wasn’t quite satisfied. It must have been the letter. 

He sighed, but didn’t look away from his friend, who was now frowning down at his hands. 

“I can invest, if you’d like?” Theo’s head whipped up at that, and he opened his mouth a few times before shaking his head. 

“No. You’re still a child,” Hadrian scowled, “-and he’d take advantage. You shouldn’t make such decisions without a financial advisor.” 

Hadrian shrugged. “Then I’ll get one.” 

“No.” Theo frowned. “No, I don’t want you to... _encourage_ him.” 

Hadrian watched his friend (his best friend?) for a moment, nodding. He knew that Theo’s father was an inventor of some sort, though whether he’d ever actually invented something, Hadrian didn’t know. Estevan Nott was, according to Higgs and Pucey, something of a recluse, appearing only when he needed funding for some new project he swore would revolutionise magic before disappearing for another year or so and repeating the process. From Theo, he knew the man to be absolutely absorbed in his work, which left his son raised by house-elves and tutors. Theo never really spoke much about his home life, much in the same way that Hadrian staunchly avoided the topic, but he knew that the other boy was often left alone and lonely. 

Maybe Theo thought that if his father had no funding, then he’d have to abandon his work, and if that happened, he’d probably see him sometimes. 

“Hadleigh has already done her damage, and he’s furious,” he said, and Theo’s eyes snapped to his before flicking over to where the fifth-year girl was tittering with her friends. “We need to manage this.” 

“ _We_ don’t need to do anything,” Theo sneered. “This is my problem. Not yours.” 

Hadrian simply rose a brow and Theo looked away, cheeks flushing red. He shook his head and mumbled an apology, which Hadrian waved off. “I could get Narcissa to invest something-” 

“ _No!”_ Theo practically growled, and his hazel eyes burned almost amber with his sudden anger. “I wouldn’t touch filthy Malfoy money if it were the last thing on earth.” 

“You don’t have much of a _choice_ ,” Hadrian hissed back. Theo set his jaw stubbornly and glared down at his fingers. “Besides, I would encourage her to use her Black funds. They're still separate from the Malfoy vaults since her father had stipulated against merging of Galleons. The Blacks are a paranoid bunch, if you didn’t know.” 

Theo smiled faintly at that, but it lasted only a moment before he went back to worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Hadrian reached over and stilled his tumbling fingers with his hand. “Hey.” Theo’s eyes shot to him, and he sucked in a breath and for a moment, things stilled. Hadrian blinked at him. “Everything will be fine. Do you still trust me?” 

There wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation when Theo breathed out, “yes.” 

Hadrian smiled. “Good. Then trust that I’ve got this.” They held each other’s gaze for a while before Theo’s shoulders slumped and he nodded. Hadrian didn’t notice that their hands were still clasped. 

* * *

With the Heir on the loose and students (and ghosts) getting petrified, most of the students decided to go home for the Yule break- with the exception for the majority of Slytherin students. They tended to go about the school with smirks and mischievous eyes and shot Hadrian approving looks or inclines of their head. 

The Weasleys, Hadrian learned from Fred and George, were staying because their parents were visiting their Dragon Handler brother. “We were hoping that Gin could go home and see Mum. She’s been in bad shape for a long while,” said George solemnly, frowning as he scribbled out an explanation on how dung bomb potions worked for Snape instead of the required essay on the wit-sharpening potion. 

He’d had to write to Narcissa explaining that he’d not be allowed to leave the castle for Yule that year. Surprisingly, the woman wasn’t about to let Dumbledore get away completely with his scheming, because she decided to let Draco stay with him. 

_The Headmaster may not understand the importance of family,_ she wrote, _but those of us who matter most certainly_ _do._ _Enjoy this Yule in the castle, Hydrus dear, and we’ll see you soon in the New Year._

It had been accompanied by two logs- one for him and one for Sally-Anne- with a bunch of ribbons. 

(Daphne, he noticed, had raised a brow but hummed in approval while Theo launched into an explanation of Yule traditions and celebrations) 

Hadrian had blinked down at the letter for a moment, trying to decide how he felt about it. In their spare time, Draco had taken to explain to him about the Blacks and their reputation and standing amongst the Ancient and Noble Houses. They were known, apparently, for naming their children after various constellations or stars, and she’d seen fit to carry on the tradition. 

He supposed it was a nickname of sorts, like when Theo called him _‘Ian’._ Did that mean that Narcissa felt fondly for him? He knew that Theo did (and firmly silenced the voice that asked, _did he?_ ) but he’d always assumed that his relationship to Narcissa and the Malfoys- no matter what they told Dumbledore- was strictly professional. He had clout as the Boy-Who-Lived and Black Heir, and they were a prominent family untouchable even by war. 

Maybe Narcissa cared about him as a person. Could that be the reason for those packages she sent every week? Was that why she’d been there on the first day when he’d not arrived at the station? Silently, he scoffed. Of course she’d be there- he'd disappeared from _her_ Floo. If he didn’t turn up, the Malfoys would surely be persecuted for offing the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Despite trying to persuade him to stay, Theo decided to return home. “Better to get it over with,” his friend had said with a wan smile. Hadrian offered to curse his father if his reaction turned out to be anything less than perfect understanding. Theo had thrown his head back and laughed at that, which Hadrian didn’t understand. He'd been completely serious. 

Sally-Anne had been planning on spending the holiday with Susan Bones but when she heard that Dumbledore had banned him from leaving, she’d stubbornly refused to go. He knew better than to argue with her. 

For the first few days, he, Draco and Sally-Anne spent their days lounging around their commandeered communal room. Sally-Anne had found a way of getting the house elves to install a fireplace in the room which made it the perfect place to sit together and just _be_. 

He so rarely got the chance to relax. There was always so much noise, so many pictures from others that filtered in or voices that drifted by. There, cocooned beneath a large blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and with the fire crackling merrily in the hearth, he felt at peace. Draco was resting his head on his shoulder and was snoring away, worn out from the earlier snowball fight that the twins had started (and ended, once they’d accidentally hit Professor Babbling when she’d been passing by). 

Sally-Anne was cooing at Hedwig, who was basking in the attention and hooting softly while he and Zilia, his own black eagle, watched them with sceptical eyes. Hadrian made to run his hands down her back but the bird was quick to nip him and he abandoned the task. Tracey, who’d stayed purely for the unrestricted time she’d get in the library, had her head buried in a fiction book of some sort. 

The words around Sally-Anne's head were buzzing like excitable bees or butterflies, flitting from one thought to the next. Draco’s were a mishmash of colours and shapes, too abstract and indistinct to really make out. There was a girl in Colin’s year, a Ravenclaw he’d glimpsed in the halls sometimes, whose words and pictures were like that _all the time_. It gave Hadrian a headache, so he made a point of avoiding crossing paths with her when he could. 

Zilia nipped his fingers again and butted her head against the book in his hands, to which he sighed and grumbled out an agreement. “Stupid bird,” he mumbled under his breath, ducking when she squawked and flapped her wings angrily at him. “Alright. Alright!” Sally-Anne glanced up from her apparently riveting conversation with Hedwig but shrugged and turned back to the owl. 

He was reading up on the laws of magical guardians, since Dumbledore saw it fit now to acknowledge it. He'd thought that _in locus parentis_ had been handed to Snape as his Head of House, but it was clear that some strings were pulled and exceptions made. At lunch that day, he’d received a note requesting his presence in the Headmaster’s office for tea the next day and he wasn’t about to walk in there completely unarmed. 

Dumbledore was a public figure, a pinnacle of the British Wizarding World and a key player in their justice system. It would be such a shame if the world was to find out that their esteemed leader breached the very laws he was supposed to be upholding. Not that Hadrian would tell of course, but Lord Malfoy was awfully good at coming to the right conclusion from vague non-answers. 

They were ushered to their common rooms by a harassed looking Penelope Clearwater who, judging from her grumbles, had spent the past hour looking for Weasley, Granger and Finnegan, and it didn’t take long for either of them to fall asleep, though Draco had nearly- in his half-asleep state- nearly curled up in _Hadrian’s_ bed. 

The next day at breakfast, he and Draco both received packages of mixed plants and candles, which Draco explained was what they would use to decorate their own altar. The upper years had set one up in their common room a few weeks ago, but the blond said it was good for them to have their own private one. 

Narcissa had sent a package for Sally-Anne as well, which made the girl beam and her hair sparkle even brighter. Her Housemates didn’t talk about Yule as much as they did in Slytherin apparently, because she bombarded Draco with questions about the celebration, which made the blond puff up with importance. 

Hadrian was in the middle of rolling his eyes when he noticed the Headmaster’s gaze on them, and though the man had a small smile on his face, Hadrian got the sense that he was displeased. Snape, beside the Headmaster, had something like a pinched look on his face, which smoothed out quickly enough. 

“Come _on_ , Hadrian. We need to go pick out the best spot in our dorm and it’s got to be perfect.” 

Hadrian frowned. “I don’t want to leave Sally-Anne on her own. Maybe we could set it up in the communal room or-” 

“Potter, Malfoy.” Hadrian stopped abruptly and turned, eyes narrowed and fingers twitching towards his wand. Smith was stood there, though his usual trademark smug look was absent. They stared at each other before Smith bowed his head and upper body slightly. “Happy Yuletide.” 

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, and was grateful when Draco nudged him. He gave his fellow Slytherin a brief look before returning to the sentiment to Smith, sans bow. 

Higgs had gleefully informed him that despite the Smiths’ relation to Helga Hufflepuff, the family was so large and widespread that nobody knew what the main branch was, and though wealthy in their own right, they had more members living lives of leisure and not contributing to the family vaults than those who did. 

Draco did the same and, after a second’s hesitation, Sally-Anne copied. “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion and thought I’d...assist.” Hadrian cocked a brow. “I will help Perks set up her altar in our common room while you two do the same in your own.” 

“And why should I trust you, Smith? Last I checked, you were half-a-breath from declaring a feud.” 

Smith scowled at looked away before squaring his shoulders. “The Holydays should be respected. There is no room for ill will at Yule.” 

Beside him, Draco scoffed. “At least you know as much,” he grumbled. Hadrian scrutinised the boy in front of him, his curly blond hair and smattering of freckles. His eyes were a cerulean blue that he supposed others would have found attractive if the boy they belonged to wasn’t so disagreeable. The words buzzing about his head didn’t seem malicious, though, and there were fleeting images of a large group of people all gathered around a crackling fireplace making enough noise to put the Gryffindors a run for their money. 

Hadrian didn’t say anything, just turned to Sally-Anne. The girl was staring at her Housemate with an inscrutable look on her face (since when did she learn to mask her feelings?) before giving a curt nod. Before they parted ways, he heard her say something about strengthening her Bat Bogey Hex. 

“I can’t take too long,” he said to Draco as the entrance crumbled away before them. “I have a meeting with Dumbledore in half-an-hour.” 

“Half-an-hour!” Draco gasped, looking appalled. “It will take _at least_ that long to decide on _where_ we’ll have the altar, and then we have to choose whether the cedar or pine will go down first- or if it’ll have to be the _hemlock_.” 

The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes as he followed Draco’s still chattering form into their dorm. They were fortunate that they had so much room. Besides their beds, there was a low sofa with a coffee table and a bookshelf taking up one wall. They decided that the corner beside the bookshelf was out-of-the-way enough for Crabbe and Goyle to avoid knocking it over but still accessible. Later that day, they’d exchange gifts between them as was customary for close family. The rest of the presents they’d open on Christmas. 

They struggled for a while with moving the coffee table (which was heavier than it looked) before he huffed and pulled out his wand and levitated it into place. Draco blushed brilliantly at that before mumbling something about a sun and scurrying off to his trunk. 

Hadrian shrugged and got to work setting up his altar, positioning his candles somewhat randomly. He thought he’d done a halfway decent job (it wasn’t particularly hard, after all) but Draco seemed to disagree. 

“Potter!” he shouted when he’d returned from the depths of his trunk. “What in Morgana is _that?”_ He pointed an accusing finger at the tangle of plants that Hadrian had draped around the candles. 

He shrugged. 

Draco made a vague noise in his throat and fluttered his hands around the altar for a minute before making another (more frustrated) noise and brushing them all off the table. “A blind hippogriff has better taste than that. How do you manage to dress yourself?” 

He shrugged again. “Sally-Anne chose my robes and most of my clothes, if you didn’t notice, are black.” 

Draco’s eyes widened slightly before flitting away. He sniffed. “Well, I applaud her efforts but they seem futile. I will take up the mantle now.” And with that declaration, he set about rearranging their altar. 

They spent the intervening time joking and talking, discussions ranging from Lockhart’s latest set of robes to the latest bill on dark artifacts. “It’s a sham,” Draco expressed emphatically. “Father said that the blood-traitors and muggle-lovers are looking for an excuse to rob the Old Families of their wealth. The Ministry is in terrible debt, you know, to other countries like America and the Goblins. That’s why they manage our finances, to make sure we don’t try and run off with their money.” 

His wand buzzed before he could respond, so he bid Draco a hasty goodbye and hastened over to the Headmaster’s office. Really, with the frequency he visited the Headmaster these days, anyone would think he was as bad a student as the Weasley twins- and even they weren’t called up so often! 

He knocked on the door and, when bid to enter, did so. 

“Ah, Harry, my boy!” Hadrian felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. “Come in, come in.” Hadrian edged closer, faltering slightly when he noticed that there was someone else already in the room. 

It was a woman whose long, inky black hair fell in soft waves down her back. When she turned to look at him with piercing grey eyes, something about her registered as familiar. 

“Professor?” 

Dumbledore stood, and had the widest smile Hadrian had ever seen on the man stretched across his face. “Harry, my boy, this is Andromeda Tonks, nee Black. She’s your cousin.” 

Hadrian blinked at the woman, stunned. She was impossibly regal, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. She looked rather stern, with a strong jaw and lips set in a firm line. There were a few lines of age on her face but they far from detracting from her beauty. Rather, they added an air of wisdom and refinement to her. Her hair framed her face, and he couldn’t help but think she looked like some kind of aloof deity. 

“Hadrian,” she said, inclining her head, and her voice was slightly deep and husky. It reminded him of fire. 

“Well met, Mrs Tonks,” he intoned, bowing back. Dumbledore made a sharp movement and he saw the woman’s eyes harden slightly before she let a small, strained smile rise to her lips. 

“Well met, Heir Black.” He felt something tighten in his chest and fought the satisfied smile that tried to rise to his lips. “I hear you’re quite close with my nephew and sister.” 

Hadrian frowned before he could stop himself, wracking his brain. Draco had been giving him a crash course in the remaining Blacks and even a few of those who’d died recently, but he didn’t know any of them personally apart from- 

“Draco and Aunt Cissa?” 

The woman- Mrs Tonks- inhaled sharply and shot Dumbledore a look before inclining her head. She motioned for him to sit and, after getting an enthusiastic nod from Dumbledore, he did. Then Mrs Tonks fixed her stern grey gaze on him. 

“It appears you’re rather closer than the Headmaster let on.” 

Hadrian swallowed a scowl. “Well, I’ve been...friends, with Draco since last year. We’re in the same House and year. He invited me to his house this summer and- well, I couldn’t _not_ get to know the Lady of the House. And she’s family. Family is important.” 

Mrs Tonks snorted slightly, and when Hadrian glanced up to her forehead, he realised that there were no pictures or words floating about. 

“Yes well, Hadrian- is it okay to call you that?” He nodded. “I will speak to you candidly and without the pretences of our House. Lucius Malfoy was, without a shadow of a doubt, a willing Death Eater in the late Dark Lord’s army. The only reason he isn’t rotting in jail with my sister and your godfather is that his pockets go deeper than either of them had access to and changing allegiances is a speciality of _his_ House.” 

Hadrian stared at her for a moment before straightening. Adults had always been unnerved when he sat properly and so still, but he didn’t imagine that she would be. He could tell from her clipped tone that she wasn’t like the other adults at Hogwarts- or if she was, it’d be closer to Snape than anyone else. 

“So say the rumours,” he said at last. 

“So says _me_.” 

“Why should I trust you?” 

“Why shouldn’t you?” 

Hadrian didn’t stop the bafflement from crossing his face, eyeing her. Who did she think she was talking to, a helpless Hufflepuff? “Trust is earned.” 

Mrs Tonks didn’t say anything for a long time, simply hummed and watched him. He held her gaze, and while they were locked in a staring contest, let some of his magic slip free. It first stretched into the air like legs that had remained crossed for too long before inching cautiously across the space between them. Dumbledore was the only person he’d not done this with, and that was because he knew the old man would learn too much about him if he did. 

His magic tasted the air around her, detecting subtle notes of something that made energy sing through his blood and to his fingers. It was so potent, in fact, that a zap of light passed between his hands. Mrs Tonks caught it, and her brows furrowed slightly and then- it happened too quickly for him to stop it. Her magic flared, uncoiled like a snake awoken from its slumber and shot through the space between them. 

His own magic sprang up in response, meeting hers head-on. He was astonished at the power behind it, the depth and hidden ferocity. It wasn’t like Snape’s which Hadrian knew to be almost unending in its depth and suffocating, and was far from the prickliness of Theo’s which threatened to tear and shred. Hers threatened to swallow him, making every nerve in his body tingle with energy. For a moment, he was stunned, too overwhelmed to do much more than stare. 

Something in him kicked in then, the part that always whispered about destruction and chaos and carnage, and he wasn’t just pressing against her magic but _into it._ The office around him grew hazy, the whirring of the Headmaster’s trinkets falling into oblivion as he sank into the energy that crackled around him and _in_ him. 

Andromeda jumped up in alarm, hastily reigning her magic back in and locking it securely in her core. She stared with wide eyes at the black-haired boy before whose eyes had bled into a stark, bright white as he swayed on the spot, a black shroud forming whipping about on his shoulders and around his body. 

He didn’t look as if he could see or hear them, lost as he was in the creature that currently lashed about in the air. “Albus,” she whispered as her heart beat against her chest. She didn’t move her gaze from the boy, whose eyes were slowly going back to their brilliant emerald green. 

“You see now, why this is so important. In the wrong hands. If we lose him, we hand the Dark more than just the Boy-Who-Lived.” The Headmaster paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was grave. “We hand them an Obscurial.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I did some research on the different ways of celebrating Yule so apologies if it isn't 100% accurate and it is, of course, not meant to offend in any way possible. If there are inaccuracies, feel free to let me know in the comments  
> It has, I must say, been adjusted slightly for story purposes (exchanging of gifts and stuff).
> 
> Whew, that was a hefty one. What did you guys think? Did you see Andy coming? Let me know in the comments!


	22. Mastering Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Hadrian finds some family (and a book), loses some friends (and chess) and makes threats.   
> Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 1,000 kudos?!?! Thank you so, so, so much to everybody who has kudosed this story, it really means a lot to me. Now there's a slightly longer (and more ominous) note at the end that I'd very much appreciate your response to, but before that, enjoy!

_Mastering others is strength  
_ _-Lao Tzu_

“Oh, hurry _up_ , Ron!” she hissed, stomping her foot in impatience. She couldn’t feel her hair bobbing in the air around her like she usually did. It hung down her back in tidy waves instead, slightly lighter than it usually was and a hundred times neater. 

Ron stumbled into the wall again before pushing himself off and taking a large, lumbering step forward. Seamus snickered. They’d taken longer to adjust to their new Polyjuiced bodies and Ron, who was only a slightly less clumsy than Neville, was having a harder job than either her or Seamus. 

“I’m _trying_ , Mione,” he grumbled in his new, gruffer voice, grunting as he took another step deeper into the dungeons. They'd hardly made much progress, what with the boys basically falling down the stairs from the out of service girls’ toilet on the second floor, and if they didn’t hurry there was a chance that- 

“Tracey?” 

Hermione silently cursed before spinning, staring straight into unearthly green eyes. She didn’t know what to do, hands fluttering uselessly in the air around her even as her jaw hung open. She hadn’t even _heard_ him approach, which should have been impossible because the castle was practically empty, and the stone floors made everything echo horrendously. 

(Ron had always grumbled that it interfered with midnight sneaking around). 

“Po- _Hadrian!”_ she practically shouted before clearing her throat and trying to regain her composure. Davis was never seen gaping or squeaking like that. In fact, _none_ of the Slytherins were seen so much as genuinely smiling. They were all stoic, cold faced and sneering. She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “Didn’t you have something to do...?” 

Potter didn’t say anything, just stared at her with those bright eyes, and she struggled not to break out into a nervous sweat. This was _exactly_ what she’d been trying to avoid. They'd run into the Headmaster yesterday and he’d mentioned having lunch with the boy and a meeting that should take at least an hour. 

Hermione knew then that it was their only chance. Davis was holed up in the library and hardly made an appearance at meals, so impersonating her wouldn’t be much of a problem. Crabbe and Goyle were lured by cakes and stuffed in an unused broom closet where a sleeping drought should keep them out of the way for about an hour and a half, to give them extra time. With them out of the way and Potter in a meeting with the Headmaster, it would be easy to get Malfoy to let them into the Slytherin common room where they’d find out about the Heir. 

But here they were, caught like guilty children- and under an _illegal_ potion as well! 

“Where are your glasses?” 

Hermione blinked for a moment, hands flying to her face before she realised. She gave a high, fake laugh. “Oh, those. I- well, they-” 

“Broke!” Ron cut in loudly, taking a wobbly step forward. He looked at her and she nodded, perhaps a little too vigorously but Potter didn’t seem to notice. She smiled at him. 

“Yes, they broke! These two- er- lugs were play fighting and- well, you know how careless they are.” She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t bring herself not to be watching him, so cut the move rather short. 

Potter didn’t say anything, though she noticed that his wand had slipped out of _somewhere_ and he was twirling it idly between thin, dexterous fingers. She fought a blush and looked back up at his face. 

“Right. Well, what are you doing down here?” 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She'd never seen Davis with her hair down, but figured it wasn’t so big a deal. Besides, she’d never say so but the other girl had nice hair and it was a novel experience being able to simply which was a novel experience for her. Normally, she had to force it back with both hands. “Going to the common room?” She winced. 

He raised a brow. 

“I mean, I got bored of reading and some of those transfiguration texts were getting difficult so we decided to go play some Exploding Snap. Join us.” 

It probably wasn’t wise, but she couldn’t help but take a shot at her academic rival. It was bad enough to be beaten in virtually every class by _Potter,_ but to have scored so close to two other Slytherins- one of which was a strong contender for the ‘brightest witch of their age’ title- made her chest and ego burn. 

She was drawn of her thoughts when Potter spoke. “What were you doing with Crabbe and Goyle?” he sneered, eyeing the boys behind her. Ron, she saw, glared at him until Seamus nudged him and he averted his gaze. 

“I- uh- I was tutoring them. Yeah, they’re hopeless in class and I thought our Esteemed House could do with some elevation. Doesn’t do to have bad representation.” Then she sniffed like she’d seen Malfoy do on countless occasions and held her nose in the air. 

“Esteemed House?” the other boy echoed. “Are you feeling alright, Tracey?” Hermione felt herself flush and tried to stutter an answer out when he interrupted her. “It’s _Moste Ancient_ and Esteemed. You make us sound like those ruffians Gryffindors.” 

Ron and Seamus choked at the same time that she did, fighting the urge to shout back in indignation. “Speaking of Gryffindor, shouldn’t we get going?” 

“What?” spluttered Seamus. 

Potter frowned, and his green eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes!” she jumped in quickly. “I just- I've done a lot of reading and scheming and the like.” She couldn’t stop the fake laugh that spilled out, and prayed that the Slytherin girl was usually so free with her emotions when in the other boy’s presence. “It’s just been a lot. What...what did we have planned?” 

Potter paused before huffing and answering. “Well, we were going to try out that new spell Malfoy’s father sent us. You know, the one that lets you into the other common rooms? We agreed that today would be the day we try out the Gryffindor one.” 

Once again, Hermione felt her face get hot. Honestly, what was _with_ this boy? How did he manage to fluster her so thoroughly when the rest of the school- who'd not been particularly fond of her- never got more than an elegant snort and a passing glance? 

Behind her, Ron made an abortive move towards the smirking Slytherin in front of them but Seamus caught his arm quickly. Potter’s face morphed then into a scarily accurate imitation of Snape’s ‘ _you’re-like-a-_ _flobberworm_ _-under-my-shoe'_ sneer. “Control your _pet,_ Davis, or I’ll have to put him down.” 

Her heart raced as her eyes widened and, when she noticed that his cold gaze was still on her, she turned to Ron and Seamus and tried to convey how desperately they needed to _shut up_ before the potential Heir of Slytherin caught on and had them petrified as Lily and Malone had been. 

“Sorry,” she started, turning back to him. “Maybe they’ll need retraining.” 

His expression didn’t change for a moment before he nodded curtly and- suddenly he was smiling. “We should go to our communal room, though. I’ve left some... _pertinent_ notes there and we’re going to need them for this.” 

He didn’t wait on their response before he was turning and starting for the stairs, and the three of them scrambled to catch up. 

They followed him to a classroom on the first floor and she realised as he flicked his wand and the door closed that this was the communal space so many of their year group had started coming to. 

She hadn’t known what to think when she’d heard Lavender and Parvati talking about the new communal space earlier that year. Apparently, most of the other Houses were all invited to study together after they’d discovered how useless Lockhart was (which Hermione _still_ couldn’t fathom. The man had written books- _eleven_ of them). 

“Padma says that he’s _really_ smart,” Parvati had said as she painted her toenails, and Lavender had giggled. 

“More than that. He’s really _cute.”_

Still, the space wasn’t massively impressive, but she could see how nice it would be to come to after a long day of classes, to sit with like-minded academics and discuss new theories. Glancing at Ron and Seamus, she knew that would never be her reality. 

“It shouldn’t be too hard to find. It's with my notes of blackmail,” Potter said, and it sounded so ridiculous that for a moment Hermione was sure that he’d realised and was teasing them. She looked at him, but he wasn’t even looking at her or the others. 

Ron and Seamus looked at her and she shrugged, waving a hand at the seats assembled around the fireplace. They all got to searching, though what they were looking for she wasn’t too sure. 

“So,” started Seamus, breaking the odd silence. “How are you going to get into Gryffindor?” 

Hermione glared at him. They were supposed to be finding out about the _Heir_ , and if they had the chance to do so from the boy himself than it was too good of a chance to pass up. 

(She wasn’t willing to admit- even to herself- that she was curious as to the boy’s method on getting them into their common room) 

“I know you’re dumb but do try to keep up,” Potter drawled, smirking when Seamus’ face went red. “The _spell_ , Goyle.” 

“Yeah, but what about the Fat Lady!” 

Potter offered a disapproving look. “That’s not nice, Goyle. I’m sure your father would be displeased to hear you speak of a lady in such a way. Just because we’ll be getting into their common room doesn’t mean you have to act like those delinquents.” 

Hermione couldn’t keep in the choked noise that scrambled up her throat, though she hoped it drowned out Ron’s growl. Did being in Crabbe’s body make him more primal? 

“Her name,” Potter continued, “is _Anne Bonny_. If you have any respect, you’ll call her as such. That’s how we became acquainted, you know. I recognised her from a muggle history book- don't look at me like that, Davis, they may be filthy things but they have their uses. 

Anyway, I recognised her and as any good Slytherin, cultivated a worthwhile association. It won’t take anything more than a few smiles to get her running to a fellow portrait to gush about _the dashing Boy-Who-Lived.”_

She didn’t even think about not gaping then, staring at the smirking boy in front of her, and she could see that her Housemates had abandoned their fruitless search to gape as well. 

Potter snorted. “I’m surprised Granger hasn’t thought of it yet. So much for the ‘brightest witch of our age’. I’m sure you could beat her half-asleep, Tracey.” 

Then he smiled at her and- Jesus that _smile._ Hermione knew in that moment exactly what Lavender had been gushing about when Potter smiled at her like that, his hair combed neatly back with its natural waves and his eyes practically sparkling. 

She felt her cheeks heat. This was _wrong._ The boy was unfairly handsome, but he was also _evil_ , she fought to remind herself. He may have the bone structure that plastic surgeons charged thousands for but he was the reason that Lily Moon and Roger Malone were petrified in the infirmary. 

“But why don’t you just use the monster?” asked Ron, and she’d never been so grateful for the ginger’s presence. “I mean, if it can petrify a ghost, won’t it work on portraits?” 

Potter didn’t say anything for a moment, keeping his face perfectly blank. Then, he let a slow smirk spread across his face. “Of _courssse,_ ” he hissed. Any of the (perfectly natural) attraction that she felt dissolved in a vat of acidic horror at his sibilant response. 

_“_ Anyway,” the Slytherin continued, “get back to looking. We need that parchment.” 

Hastily, they got back to moving chairs and checking behind curtains for a parchment Hermione wasn’t entirely sure existed, but she was glad for the chance to think things through. 

Even if the entire situation was derailed by Potter’s presence, they still managed to learn quite a lot. For one, Malfoy senior had a spell that could let the Slytherins into the other Houses which was beyond dangerous. What if they hexed everyone in their sleep? Or t-p'd their common room in the night? Or- God forbid- _got to their school notes!_ Professor McGonagall ought to be notified as soon as possible. 

The other little tidbit they’d been assured of was that Potter _was_ the Heir. He may not have come right out and admitted it but he kind of had, in a roundabout way. Now they knew for sure, and they could tell the Headmaster and get the boy expelled- the school would be safe and Potter would be carted off to whatever juvenile detention centre they had for wizards. 

(Did those exist? How safe were they? If they had to keep wizards and witches in line, didn’t they have to be super secure- they had magic after all. She should do some research. As soon as this potion wore off and she was back to her usual self). 

Potter cleared his throat then, and his words made dread slip down her spine. “I must say,” he started, “you’re not very good at this.” 

Seamus made some kind of strangled noise and they all spun to look at Potter. “What?” 

Potter laughed. “Apart from you, of course. That _is_ all Goyle says. You two though-” he pointed at Hermione and Ron and tsked. “-not a very good job at all. You must think me a fool.” 

There was a moment of stillness before they all moved at the same time, pulling out their wands. Hermione had barely drawn hers before Potter shouted “ _Expelliarmus_!” and a jet of red light hit Ron square in the chest. 

She was too busy watching Ron’s hastily patched wand (which the ginger had managed to break a few weeks ago in Transfiguration trying to avoid a late mark from their Head of House. He'd been so focused on making it into his seat that he’d forgotten that his wand was in his back pocket and- well). 

By the time that Hermione blinked again, Seamus was stumbling back into her and she was watching their wands fly into the outstretched grasp of Potter, who looked entirely unruffled, as if he’d not just had an (albeit short) duel with three wixen. 

They crashed into the desks at their backs. Slowly, Potter walked over to them, ropes shooting out of his wand when he called “ _Incarcerous_.” 

“You...you slimy snake!” Ron spat. He was struggling against the ropes but if they were anything like the ones binding her, Hermione didn’t have much hope in her friend breaking them. Seamus was watching the approaching boy with wide eyes 

Potter smiled widely, and it was nothing like the one he’d given her earlier. This one was sharp, had too many teeth to be nice and made his eyes sparkle with what Hermione imagine madness to look like. 

“Ah, Weasley, I suppose?” he mused lightly, grinning again when Ron’s face flamed as red as his natural hair. Actually, if Hermione leaned in and looked closely, she thought she could see Crabbe’s dark hair had a slight red tint. Was it a natural trait of the Slytherin or was the potion wearing off? Had their time run out so quickly? They _had_ spent a long time arguing on how to get into the Slytherin common room, and Ron had taken _awfully_ long learning to walk again... 

Potter turned to Seamus. “And you are...Longbottom?” She felt a brief stab of satisfaction that he’d gotten it wrong, until he smirked and shook his head. “No, poor boy’s terrified of his own shadow. Thomas has a few brain cells rattling up there,” and he tapped his wand against Goyle’s head, grin sharpening when Seamus flinched back, “which leaves pyro Finnegan.” 

“I’m not a pyro!” he shouted, face reddening. “My- my wand just doesn’t work right! Ollivander got it wrong!” 

Potter rolled his eyes. “He didn’t get it wrong, Finnegan. You require _control_. I imagine you have...dragon heartstring? Maybe a blackthorn wand. No? Red Oak?” Seamus gaped up at him and Potter’s smile widened. “Interesting.” 

Hermione didn’t try to mask her scoff. “And what good is knowing a person’s wand?” 

It was meant to taunt the other boy- he had to know that his obviously Slytherin way of distracting wasn’t going to work on them. He may have the rest of the school and the other Houses fooled, but they were _Gryffindors-_ they were impervious to all of that. 

Instead, Ron and Seamus were looking at _her_ as if she’d said something weird, an incredulous look stamped across their face. Potter, as ever, was smirking. Did the boy do anything _else?_

_(_ A small voice pointed out that he smiled rather nicely as well, but she swiftly told it to shut up; Theo was _at least_ as cute as Potter). 

“A person’s wand can tell you a lot about a person,” Potter said simply, and he held up her own wand, eyeing it almost blankly. “But that’s a conversation for a later date.” 

She remembered Ollivander telling her that it was vine, because she did her best to remember everything, but she didn’t find it particularly revealing. In her opinion, the Wizarding World was too obsessed with making abstract concepts tangible. There was no way that _wood_ could convey a person’s personality, just like there was no way that the _future_ could be read in the stars and tea-leaves. 

“How...how did you know?” Seamus asked, clearing his throat. “How’d you know it was us?” 

“Well, considering I left Tracey in the library not twenty minutes ago...” 

Hermione flushed again, looking away. She didn’t want to think about the fact that Seamus had pointed out the major flaw that using Tracey was. 

“You’re also really horrible actors. I mean, really, nobody refers to their Hogwarts House as an Esteemed House,” Potter scoffed. Ron snickered at that, but when Potter’s gaze landed on him, he abruptly shut up. “Now, I _could_ let you go...” Hermione felt a tiny blossom of hope unfurl in her chest and the expression was mirrored on Seamus’ face. “But unfortunately for you, I’ve had a rather shitty day.” 

Before she could be sure of what was happening, or wrap her head around the fact that he’d just _sworn,_ Potter swished his wand through the air and called “ _Petrificus T_ _otalus_ ”, watching dispassionately as Ron froze, arms locking into place at his side. 

Hermione squeaked, jumping as she watched her friend freeze. It was just like Lily, and a startling horror swept through her. What if he didn’t need Slytherin’s monster to petrify people? What if he’d been going around using _this_ on them and nobody bothered to try the counter-curse or search his wand? Everyone was so focused on some kind of beast that they’d overlooked the one that walked among them- the boy himself. 

Potter moved again, this time aiming his wand at Seamus and she watched the Irish boy suffer the same fate as Ron. He looked so utter unaffected, like he’d been talking about Charms homework or the food they’d be eating for dinner, not like he’d just petrified two classmates. She couldn’t let him petrify her- she had to tell McGonagall, Dumbledore- _somebody._

“Potter!” she shouted and his gaze, which had gone slightly hazy and unfocussed sharpened. “L-let us go at _once!”_

Her voice wasn’t as firm as she’d wanted it to be but- Jesus she was _terrified._ She imagined she would feel better if he looked like he cared, or as if he enjoyed this like she knew McLaggen in the year above her did. She'd seen the boy torment the first years enough to know what the usual bully looked like during their taunts. 

But Potter...he just stood there, serene, gentle, smiling softly with gleaming eyes. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said airily, twirling his wand between his fingers. She watched the movement, breath stuttering every time the point faced her. “I’ve had a remarkably horrid day so far, and here you are using Polyjuice potion- very illegal, by the way- and impersonating my Housemates while trying to interrogate me.” He laughed, and it was unhinged, slightly crackled with what she imagined was the onset of puberty but no less terrifying. 

She looked around, trying to find a way out, or something to cut the ropes or grab the attention of someone walking by but there was nothing. Looking over at her Housemates, she noticed that, of all times for it to do so, the potion appeared to be wearing off now. 

Crabbe’s brown hair bled steadily redder until it was the Ron’s trademark carrot red. Goyle looked to be shrinking, fat and muscle melting and morphing into the slighter form of Seamus. Hermione felt the hair that had rested docile on her shoulders curl up, the usual puff that hung around her head making its reappearance. She blinked up at him. 

“I-” she started, voice croaking. “You can’t hurt me. The castle has wards to detect Dark magic.” 

Potter laughed again, and she flinched. “Dark magic?” he repeated. “Oh Granger, I don’t need _Dark magic_. There are plenty of Light spells that would work well enough. Like _Rictusempra._ the Tickling Charm. I can hold you that for ages, until you vomit. Then I can cast a Body-Bind curse on you and- well, if you happen to choke on your own sick, it’s not really _my_ fault, is it?” 

Hermione felt sick. Her stomach roiled, bile climbing up her throat just at the thought. How could he- how could _anyone_ turn such a harmless spell into a Dark thing? She’d bandied the spell about often enough with Ron and Seamus when they practiced in the common room in the evenings, but now she feared she’d throw up just at the mention of it. 

Potter was watching her, and his head was cocked and eyes flat, as if he was watching a particularly uninteresting bug. Those bright, verdant eyes tracked the sweat she could feel beading on her brow. Hermione struggled to catch her breath, tried to hold onto a scrap of dignity and poise she had left but the longer that boy stood there watching her with the impassiveness of a statue, the more she wanted to cry. 

She could just imagine it, Potter holding her under the tickling curse for ages, long enough for her laughter to turn into sobs, her cheeks wet with tears and sides aching. She could imagine how sore her throat would feel, the hoarse scratchiness. Would she even be able to make a sound? Would the torture rob her of her voice? 

Maybe she’d laugh so hard that it would be silent. She could feel the phantom pressure on her chest, the burning need for air that Potter would deny her, the burning of her lungs, the screaming in her head. Could she suffocate like that? Would she die? Could Potter actually _kill h_ _er?_

Watching him, she wasn’t so sure of her answer. He was twirling his wand again, handling it as expertly as if he’d had it his entire life. Maybe he had. Maybe they made exceptions for the Boy-Who-Lived. Maybe they wouldn’t care if he killed her. She was just another muggle-born, after all. What was that in comparison to the saviour of the Wizarding World? 

Potter took a step away from her, and she could see his thoughts churning behind those burning depths. Bile rose in her throat, coated her tongue, heavy and ready to spew. She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t done everything she wanted to. She hadn’t done her _OWLs_ yet. She had plans! McGonagall said she could be Minister one day- she wanted to be _Minister!_

“ _Mimblewimble_ _!”_ he called, pointing his wand first at the frozen forms of Ron and Seamus and then before turning it on her. Hermione felt her throat clamp up and for a wild moment, she truly believed that she was going to die. 

The sensation had only just passed when he waved his wand again ad cast the babbling curse on her. Her mouth moved before she could even form a thought, strings of nonsensical sounds and words pouring out of her. To her mortification, she even _swore!_

Potter leaned in close then, close enough for her to smell woodsmoke and copper. The burn of tears spilled over and she didn’t try to stop them, too terrfied to even blink. “I tire of your incessant stupidity, Granger,” he drawled, tipping her chin up with his wand. It was warm against her skin and vibrated slightly, like it was eager to fire off a curse. “The next time you mistake me for one your little _friends,_ remember that I don’t need a _beast_ to do my bidding.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Draco’s eyes darted to the opened door, watching as the figure moved into the room. The boy had a sharp grin on his face and his hair looked more untidy than he ever let anyone see outside of his dorm. Just what had he been up to? 

“Finished your schmoozing, Potter?” 

Hadrian looked at him and smiled crookedly. “I don’t schmooze, Malfoy. I leave that for your lot to do.” 

“My lot?” he parroted incredulously. “What do you mean _my lot?”_

Hadrian laughed, and it was slightly cracked. Draco frowned. Hadrian was hardly ever anything less than perfect (excluding that period last year when he’d been researching how to kill an evil professor, but Draco didn’t think that counted) so what in the world had him so...dishevelled? 

“You ambitious lot with dreams of going into politics.” 

Draco snorted softly. “Hadrian, you do realise that you’re, a) in _Slytherin_ and b) the Heir to not one but _two_ Ancient and Noble Houses, right? You've got your fair share of politicking and schmoozing to do.” 

The dark-haired boy sighed and sat himself- not on the couch where there was plenty of space and any normal person would sit- but on the arm of the couch close to Draco so that the boy’s arm was pressed against Draco’s side. Draco tried not to read into it too much but then Hadrian went and ran a hand through his _hair_ and- Draco stopped breathing. 

“No,” Hadrian said airily, easily as you please, as if he hadn’t short-circuited Draco’s brain. 

_(Draco wasn’t quite sure what that meant but he’d heard Tracey and Hadrian say it a few times and figured that it was acceptable. The idea that it was a muggle phrase didn’t cross his mind)_

_“_ I don’t want any of that... _that_. I'm not interested in it.” 

Draco turned to look at his friend, who was staring into nothing with slightly glazed eyes. Hadrian had said something to that effect at the end of last year, that he wasn’t interested in being the Slytherin King, but Draco had thought it was just some kind of false modesty, or that he didn’t really know what it entailed- what it _meant_. But everybody knew what going into politics was about and anybody with the great advantage that Hadrian had wouldn’t think twice about it. 

Politics was about who gets what, when and how. It was about manoeuvring around people and dancing around laws and making promises that ultimately wouldn’t keep but make them _think_ you kept. Politics was about keeping the world in your favour or changing it so that it was. Politics was about _power,_ and Hadrian had that in spades. 

“Why?” he asked, genuinely baffled, and Hadrian looked at him. “It would be so easy.” 

“Exactly,” Hadrian said. “It would be _easy_. It would be nothing to get laws passed, to make reformations, to change the world. I can do that from here and I’m not even officially recognized but the Wizengamot for another two years. It's easy and it’s boring. I want more.” 

Draco stared up at him wide-eyed. “More?” 

The other boy nodded. “Yes.” Then Hadrian smiled, and his eyes glimmered, and his teeth glinted sharply. “I want more of what I did today. To the Gryffindors.” 

He sucked in a breath. “What...what did you do?” 

Hadrian didn’t speak for a moment. “I taught them a lesson.” 

Then Hadrian told him about how they were Polyjuiced to look like Crabbe and Goyle who they’d drugged and stuffed in the broom closet on the fourth floor. Draco listened to how Hadrian had known straight away that they were imposters, had toyed with the thought of leading them straight to Professor Snape before deciding to deal with it himself. He watched Hadrian transform from the reserved, quiet boy into an animated and lively thing, hands twitching and eyes bright, voice not so carefully modulated. It was like watching a flower that bloomed only in the moonlight and Draco was captivated. 

“She was terrified,” Hadrian said, and his voice was low, almost a whisper, so that he bent down to speak into Draco’s ear. The blond repressed a shiver. “She looked like she was about to cry- or faint- or even _hurl_. And her eyes were so wide Draco- they looked like they were about to fall from her head and-” he stopped abruptly, and Draco could hear the way his breath trembled. “My magic was _right there_ and I could feel her terror, Draco, like it was my own. I could hear her thoughts so clearly, like she was screaming them at me.” 

Draco’s mouth was dry and his heart pounded in his chest, loud and hard like it was trying to break free. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap but he could feel them shaking slightly, knew that every breath he took was weak and quivery. 

He could feel the malevolent darkness of Hadrian’s magic in the air, roiling and thick like it wanted to suffocate him. 

_It could_ , he thought suddenly. _Hadrian could kill me right now and I wouldn’t be able to stop him._

Draco looked up at the other boy, and prayed to Merlin and ever deity he’d ever heard his late grandmother speak of that the strange amalgamation of excitement/fear/dread/anticipation didn’t show on his face. 

“Show me.” 

* 

Draco hesitated, lifting his wand before clearing his throat and calling “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” He swished his wand, snapping his wrist down before cutting it across. A jet of feeble white light puffed from the end of his wand but it hardly stretched a foot in the air before vanishing. 

He gritted his teeth, fighting the wave of humiliation that burned in his chest, deliberately not looking over to where his friend was stood observing. It was _humiliating_! 

“Oh Draco,” the other boy started, and he could hear his voice getting closer. “It’s not so bad. Not all third years can do it.” 

Draco glared. “ _You_ can do it.” Hadrian shrugged and Draco huffed, assuming his position before trying again. Once more, the jet of white light arced a foot between him and the dummy before dying. “What am I doing _wrong?!”_

“Here,” Hadrian started, and he stepped in close to him. Draco felt his eyes widen as Hadrian’s hand wrapped around his wrist and the (slightly taller) boy moved behind him. He hardly breathed as the other boy raised his hand. “The tip of your wand should start _here_ , not straight up. It's a curve, a flick of the wrist, not a snap down. And you keep forgetting the bit at the end. It gives the spell it’s distance. Let's try again.” 

Draco didn’t think he was in any state to be casting spells, with how hard his heart was beating and the fact that he currently couldn’t remember much of anything but he nodded dumbly anyway, shifting slightly so that his shoulders brushed Hadrian’s chest. 

_Focus_. 

“ _Petrificus Totalus!”_

A wave of power, of pure magic crashed through him. He felt it invade his veins, run down his arm and out into his wand. The light that left the end of his hawthorn wand was bright, blinding, and arced all the way to the dummy and beyond. The stuffed thing flew back, crashing to the floor on the complete opposite side of the room. 

Draco’s head swam. He'd never felt his magic like that before, never felt the way it swam inside of him in such a way. Was that how Hadrian felt all the time? Was that his experience with magic? It was a wonder that he’d not gone crazy with the multitude of sensations. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hadrian breathed, and Draco felt his breath on his neck and on his ear. The other boy hadn’t stepped back yet, and Draco could feel the way his heart beat in his chest, almost as fast as his raced in his own. His hands were warm, still on his wrist, their hands clasped over the wand. 

Wordlessly, Draco turned back to the scorched training wall and raised his wand. Hadrian was still there, at his back, clutching his wrist, and together they _cast._ Draco said every spell he’d ever learnt and even a few he’d only heard of. There were light jinxes and hexes, there were household charms and cosmetic ones, there were transfigurations from one object to another, from an object to an animal, from an animal into two. Magic bloomed at his fingertips, flew from his lips like a prayer and flowed through his veins like a river. 

They cast until Draco couldn’t stand anymore and had to slump against Hadrian, limbs trembling and eyes wide. Hadrian caught him (like he knew he would) and towed him to their common room, slipping in and up to their dorm easily. Draco hardly saw anything, too focussed on the sensation of magic passing through his veins. It was like that one time when he was younger and had been left with a distant cousin of the Lestage's who’d smoked Half Moon like a chimney. The fumes had addled his eight-year-old brain so much that he’d insisted to Mother that he was speaking Mandarin and that the moon was a spy sent by the Dark Lord and ordered to eat him. 

_(Lucius had seen to it that Lestrange indulged in their drug of choice to excess. Then the Malfoys had sent flowers to their funeral but never attended themselves)_

There were soft, silky sheets beneath him and he sighed, sinking into them as his eyes fluttered shut. Draco was vaguely aware of a hand that stroked through his hair, but it blended in with the pulsing of blood in his ears. 

“You make it so easy, Draco,” a voice said and...was that Hadrian? But he’d never heard him speak so softly, unless he was talking to Perks. Maybe this was some sort of dream? It wouldn’t be the first. Draco had woken up with more than his fair share of damp boxers and ruined bedding. Thank _Merlin_ for cleaning charms. 

The voice continued. 

“I could torture. I could kill. I could set the world alight, and you’d be right there, egging me on. I could ruin you.” 

Draco wanted to be conscious for this, wanted to sit up and look the boy dead in the eyes and tell him _yes._ Draco wanted all those things. He was tired of being treated with the kid gloves that Hadrian handled him with. Sometimes, when Hadrian prowled about with magic leaking out of his pores and into the air with every breath, Draco wanted to burrow himself beneath his skin, to sink into his blood and wrap himself around his organs just to see what it felt like. He didn’t know if there was a word for it, didn’t know if there was any way to categorising this monster that roared in his chest at the sight of the other boy, but he didn’t know who he was without it. 

Draco didn’t want the false niceness. Hadrian wasn’t a _nice person._ It terrified him, his apparent lack of empathy unnerved him, his power stole the breath right from his lungs- but Draco _loved it_. He wasn’t interested in the weak or docile. There were so few people in their world who posed a threat to him, so few that were worthy of the respect of a Malfoy. Hadrian was one and it irritated him no end that the other refused to acknowledge it. 

He felt Hadrian stop stroking his hair, felt him tug his shoes off and manoeuvrer his body out of the outer robes. Then there was the sound of his curtains being drawn and Draco sank into the waiting arms of Morpheus with Hadrian’s words echoing around his head. 

_I could ruin you_. 

* * *

All too soon, the Yule holidays ended and the eerily silent castle was filled once more with the hustle and bustle of hundreds of students. Hadrian had spent the remained of their break practising with Draco and Sally-Anne in their communal area with the twins popping in every now-and-then to set off explosions and turn Draco’s skin strange colours. 

They only saw Granger, Finnegan and the youngest Weasley male at meals. 

Draco was in a good mood at the first feast since the students had returned to the castle. Their group had all explained jubilantly the presents they’d gotten and thanked each other before turning the question on them. 

“So,” Blaise started, wrinkling his nose at the spread of food. He was always picky about the food after returning from his villa in Italy where the ‘food there would put all of Hogwarts’ house-elves to shame’. “How was Yule for you guys?” 

Draco, sat across from Hadrian, met his eyes. The other boy was smirking as he spooned some green beans onto his plate, and Draco felt his cheeks heat. 

_(Beside Draco, Theo tightened his grip on his fork)_

“Oh, nothing much,” the dark-haired boy said airily, though his eyes danced with mirth. “Though it’s been a while since we’ve messed with the Gryffindors, hasn’t it?” 

Draco nearly choked at that, and Hadrian winks one, glittering green eye. 

“We’ve got bigger problems than the Gryffindors to deal with,” Daphne hisses, and she waves her wand to cast a silencing spell. It's somewhat crude, and will mostly muffle their voices, but better than speaking their business aloud. “They managed to pass that bill authorizing Aurors to raid Dark Families’ manors. Yaxley’s already been slapped with a 500 Galleon fine.” 

Draco’s eyes widen as he turns to look at the blonde girl whose brows are furrowed in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. She's looking at Hadrian, though, who continues to look entirely unruffled and doesn’t say anything, merely humming. Daphne scowls. “Don’t you _care?”_

For a second, Draco is afraid that Hadrian will answer honestly. For all that he’s a Slytherin through-and-through, Hadrian tended to give in to his Gryffindor instincts at all the wrong times. Draco can just see the unaffected look crossing his face, the simple “ _No”_ falling from his lips as he blinks lazily at her. Can imagine the stunned silence and shifting allegiances. 

Draco kicks him under the table, and those clear eyes jump to him before Hadrian smiles softly and looks back at the other blonde. “I do,” he says carefully, slowly, “but there’s not much I can do from here, is there? In their eyes, I am a child. I haven’t been part of the Wizarding World for two years yet- what do I know?” 

Daphne’s face turns thunderous and Draco thinks for a moment that she’ll hex the other boy, but she just sniffs and wipes her face of any emotion, jerking her wand and cancelling the spell before she picks daintily at her food. 

There's a tense silence for a moment until Goyle knocks over the pumpkin juice and everyone berates him. Runcorn and Parkinson, sat with the first-years, glance over and sneer before getting up and leaving. Draco _would_ jinx them but they’re in the Great Hall and the Headmaster is looking over at their table again. 

When the meal ends, they all walked silently to the common room, where Daphne instantly broke away to sit with some third-year girls. Millicent sent them an apologetic look while Tracey rolled her eyes and flopped down beside Farley, who grumbled and pushed a thick book onto the younger girl’s lap. 

“Here,” she mumbled around the quill she held between her teeth, “find the reference on Langley’s theory on conjuration and banishing.” Tracey raised a brow at the girl, and she sighed. “Fine. I’ll show you the Banishing Charm.” 

“ _And_ the Summoning Charm.” 

Farley rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. I doubt you’ll get it anyway, but I’ll show you.” 

Tracey grinned and handed the book back. “I don’t need the book. I wrote about it last week to ask Professor Snape.” 

Farley gaped at her. “Snape?” 

The half-blood shrugged. “McGonagall isn’t particularly fond of us.” 

Across from them, playing a game of chess, sat Hadrian and Theo. Neither of them were speaking and Hadrian was losing, as usual, but he didn’t really care. There was something comforting about being in the other boy’s presence, something that made the wild _thing_ in Hadrian’s chest settle. 

“You’ve got to be careful, Ian,” Theo said at last, and Hadrian glanced up to find bright hazel eyes pinning him in place. They flicked over to where Daphne was tittering with some third-years. “It won’t look good to lose her.” 

Hadrian hummed and moved his pawn. “I won’t force her to stay and I won’t compromise on who I am.” Theo didn’t say anything and Hadrian sighed, running a hand through his carefully brushed back hair. “You know I don’t about all of that, Theo,” he said softly, a hint of frustration peeking through his voice. “I don’t really _care_.” 

Theo sighed and nodded, taking Hadrian’s pawn. “I know. But she does, a lot of people do, and you’re the only one amongst us who has even a bit of a chance to do something about it. The _legal_ way.” 

Hadrian was quiet for a moment before he waved his hand and a bubble of silence descended upon them. He looked at his friend for a long while before speaking. “Dumbledore called me to his office on Yule. Said he wanted to have lunch.” 

Theo’s brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything. 

“Turns out Narcissa has another _sister._ She either works for Dumbledore or supports his cause. I think...” he cleared his throat. “I think he wants her to adopt me.” 

“What?!” 

Hadrian laughed bitterly. “Yeah. I told him the reason I wanted to go to the Malfoys was because they were family. You know, the poor orphan spiel,” he grinned at Theo who rolled his eyes, though a smirk tugged at his lips. “I never realised that there were any Blacks who weren’t...” 

“Death Eaters?” Hadrian looked up. Theo looked steadily back. Hadrian nodded. “She was disowned. For marrying a muggle. She used to be a Healer at St Mungo’s but last I heard she’d gone private. Ever since the Dark Lord fell.” 

Hadrian frowned and instructed his knight to move. 

“I don’t know what to think about her. If I can trust her.” 

Theo nodded. “She’s definitely Dumbledore’s witch, Hadrian. There was a rumour that Bellatrix was planning on going after her child.” Hadrian looked up sharply at that, but Theo didn’t look affected. “The Dark haven’t been very welcoming to her. She won’t be coming back.” 

“Dark?” 

Theo looked at him weirdly for a long moment before nodding. “The...the Ministry call bad wizards ‘dark’ wizards. They've made it synonymous with ‘criminal’ or ‘bad’. It wasn’t always.” Theo paused, shifting closer. “The world needs balance. There’s no light with shadow. For something to be sweet, there must be bitter. No light without dark. 

“There have always been different types of magic. Healing magic, necromancy, Transfiguration and Charms, enchantments, blood magic- _loads_ of different branches. To make it easier, people- the _Ministry-_ have boiled it down to Dark Magic and Light Magic.” 

Hadrian frowned. “Yes, but what’s the difference? What makes Dark magic...dark?” 

Theo shook his head. “I’m not too sure. Nobody really talks about it. They say that Dark magic is any that causes harm to the person its cast on, but then completely forget that jinxes and hexes are forms of Dark magic.” 

Hadrian didn’t say anything for a long moment, staring unseeingly at the mostly empty chessboard. He knew from his research last year into Blood Magic that it was a taboo topic, and not one to be brought up in polite society, but he hadn’t bothered at the time to look into _why_. Sure, there were numerous unsavoury acts that could be performed with Blood Magic, but as he’d explained to Granger, the hexes and jinxes that their Professors taught them could be used just as wickedly. 

“You said that she wouldn’t be coming _back.”_

Theo looked up at him, the fire flickering in the grate nearby making his hazel eyes look amber. “I did.” He didn’t say anything more, save for instructing his castle to move. 

Hadrian hummed. 

“It’s not just criminals who accept the label dark,” he says, watching his friend closely. The corner of Theo’s lip jumps slightly, and Hadrian knows he’s right. His knight captures one of Theo’s castles. “I imagine there are a whole faction of wizards who _feel_ like criminals, though. Persecuted. Targeted.” 

Theo clenches his jaw and takes his bishop. 

“It would be easy,” Hadrian continues almost absently, “to pray upon this faction of people. To take advantage of them. These are the outcasts, the castaways and forgotten, fallen from their mighty thrones of privilege and cast into the shadows. How easy it would be to whisper sweet nothings in their ears, to promise them the world for nothing but loyalty in turn.” 

Theo snaps for his rook to move to d5, swiftly capturing Hadrian’s last castle but the dark-haired boy finds he doesn’t really care. He’ll lose this match as he does all the others, but Theo’s reaction to his words is much more entertaining. 

“The Dark,” he purrs, leaning close to the other boy until Theo’s scent of cinnamon and spice fills his nose. “Is It an attempt at reclaiming the name? To turn a slur and shame into pride?” He can see the goosebumps that rise on Theo’s skin, the way the other boy trembles slightly before moving his rook manually and setting it down. 

Theo’s bright eyes find his. His jaw is clenched and his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed. “Check.” 

Hadrian doesn’t know why, but he finds himself thinking that Theo is strangely beautiful in this light, the fire casting dancing shadows on his slightly pale skin. There's something arresting about the other boy, something beautiful, with his eyes alight with fury and the _snap_ and _crackle_ of his magic in the air. Breathless, Hadrian throws his head back and laughs. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

It doesn’t take long for them to fall into the swing of things. Classes restart and lessons are just as boring and uninspiring. They were going over the Tickling Charm in class one day when Professor Flitwick, in one of his moments of startling clarity, called the class’ attention to the fact that not only had Hadrian mastered the spell already, but he’d been applying the counter-charm which they’d learn later in the year. 

“See there, how his wand flicked sharply up?” the small Professor squeaked, climbing to the top of his stack of books. He swished his wand in the air, exaggerating the flick at the end. Weasley, who’d been bent over double and clutching his sides with laughter, abruptly stopped, cheeks darkening as he slumped into his seat. 

Hadrian snickered with his Housemates, watching as, beside the redhead, Granger watched with wide eyes. Her gaze flicked to him then, and they held each other’s stare for a moment before she rapidly paled and turned green before bolting out of the room. 

According to the rumour mill, she didn’t leave the second-floor girl’s bathroom all morning. 

* 

They were in the communal area again and Hadrian thought his heart may pound out of his chest. 

(Not that anyone else could tell, of course. He'd only hexed Blaise twice.) 

“Alright.” Hadrian’s head snapped up and his bright green eyes tracked Terry and Tracey as they came into the room. Sally-Anne was sat beside him looking much less affected, busy petting and showering Hedwig with all the praise that the self-important owl could absorb. 

“Alright what?” he snapped, half-rising out of his seat. Sally-Anne absently reached out and tugged him back into the chair. He huffed. “What did she say?” 

“Well,” Tracey started with something like amusement, “have a look for yourself.” 

Hadrian near snatched the parchment from her, ignoring the amused look that crossed everyone’s face. His eyes scanned the letter, jumping from one key word to another. _Distant...war...family._

He looked up. 

“So it’s true?” 

Tracey rolled her eyes but Terry, much nicer than his fellow bookworm, just smiled and nodded. Sally-Anne- _still_ irritatingly calm, as if he hadn’t done this all for her- bumped his shoulders with her own. “Read it out loud.” 

Everyone in the room silenced and gave the dark-haired boy their full attention. Hadrian turned to the letter. 

> _Dear Mr Potter-Black,_
> 
> _I have had the pleasure of hearing from an old, dear friend of mine concerning the possibility of our relation. I must say, I was quite surprised to receive Lena’s letter; knowledge of our relation has always been a well-known fact despite it being a bit distant. My brother Henry and I used to be good friends with James, but the war came and...well, I doubt you need me rehashing everything._
> 
> _We were sad to hear that you couldn’t stay with us- Henry has 3 boys, all about your age- but Fate seems to favour us. Perhaps this is our chance to be the family we could_ _have_ _been. I'll be eagerly awaiting your owl._
> 
> _Fondest regards,_   
> _Lyra Potier_
> 
> _P.S: I hear you were originally looking into Miss Perks’ family and- Lady Magic truly loves us, I can tell; we’re related to the Perks also!_

He turned to Sally-Anne, who was looking at him with wide eyes and a bright smile. She flung her arms around his neck and laughed, ignoring Hedwig’s indignant squawk. 

Hadrian closed his eyes and hugged her back. 

_Family_. 

* 

Hadrian's joy at finding the Potier’s lasts for a few days until the arrival of another letter. This one is delivered by a modest, tawny owl that settles (more considerately that Zilia ever does) on an empty space on their table, sticking its leg out. Hadrian unties the letter and feeds the owl some of his bacon, smiling slightly at the grateful nip to his fingers before it takes off again. 

His name is written in the kind of near, calligraphic hand that only a pureblood can perfect, and Hadrian’s stomach twists with nerves. 

He knows, or has a strong idea, of who it could be, and the idea makes him nervous. Andromeda Tonks was no Ida Muller or Petunia Dursley. She wouldn’t be scared and cowed into submission. She was a Black by blood, and a Tonks by choice; born into a family where cunning and deceit were coveted but walked the path of the righteous and just. She would see through him all-too-easily. 

The worst part was that she was also the most logical person to be granted guardianship and, unless he wanted Dumbledore to know how staunchly he fought the old man’s attempt at control, he couldn’t protest too loudly. 

“Who’s that from?” Draco asked, leaning over to look at the letter. Hadrian, too distracted to move it in time, watched the blond freeze, silver eyes narrowing. “ _Tonks_?” he asked incredulously, looking up at him. 

Beside him, Theo smirked. “Didn’t you know?” he asked airily, stirring some sugar into his tea. “Dumbledore is considering making her Hadrian’s guardian.” 

Hadrian shot the boy an acidic look but it was too late. Draco was looking at him with something of a lost expression, eyes wide with hurt and mouth hanging open. A moment passed where they simply stared at each other. 

“Draco-” 

“Whatever, Potter,” Draco sneered, turning his back. A spike of anger, of plain _fury_ sped down his spine at the blatant disrespect but Hadrian bit his tongue, took a deep breath, and nodded sharply to himself. He put the letter in his bag, unread, and stood from the table. 

“Hadrian...” Theo started but stopped when he shot him a sharp look. The tawny-haired boy looked something like a kicked puppy when he slumped in his seat, but Hadrian found his anger easier to control when he walked away. 

There was a considerable amount of time before their first lesson of the day, and Hadrian found himself wandering the halls like he used to at night last year. He was contemplating the possibility of taking up the activity again when a loud, blubbering wail cut into his thoughts. 

He was on the second floor and the sound seemed to be coming from the toilets which were flooded and leaking again- which made the fourth or fifth time that year. Hadrian curled his lip. Bad enough that Filch was a squib (Draco had explained that they were essentially muggles, with no kind of magic of their own. Pitiful, really) but he could at least be a competent cleaner. 

There was a sign on the door reading _Out of Order._

_“_ Hello?” he called, stepping closer, grimacing at the water that sloshed at his feet. 

The blubbering paused for a moment, and he took another step towards the bathroom. 

“Hello?” 

“Come to laugh at me, have you?” screeched a high-pitched voice, and Hadrian had half-a-second to wonder at who was speaking before a spectral form flew through the wall. He stumbled back, his wand flicking into his hands instinctively as he watched the pig-tailed girl with glasses and a scrunched face hover above him in the air. 

He’d heard of a ghost that haunts one of the toilets in the school before, but he didn’t tend to put much stock into the rumours. Now, though, with the girl floating agitatedly in the air, he supposed there was a modicum of truth to it all. They called her something alliterative...Wailing Wendy? 

“No,” he said, raising his hands in the universal gesture of peace. “No, I- I heard you crying. Are you alright?” 

“Alright?!” she screeched, making loops in the air before looking at him again. “ _No_ I'm not alright! Someone threw a book through my head again!” 

It took some serious restraint to hold back the laugh that wanted to bubble out of him, but he managed it. Instead, he morphed his face into a concerned frown. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Does it happen often?” 

“Yes! _Who can score the most points with Moaning Myrtle? Five points for her shoes, ten for her stomach and fifty for her head!_ ” 

Hadrian winced. “That...well, that sounds horrible. I’m sorry to hear that.” The girl- Myrtle- stopped her wailing to watch him with wide eyes. “What did they throw at you?” 

Myrtle blinked at him for a second. “A book,” she said, and this time, it was at a more normal volume. “They threw a book at me and said something about going away.” 

Hadrian hummed, mind spinning. “Can you show me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of a filler but...did you guys see the start of some (broader) plot? Slowly but surely, guys. 
> 
> Now, on a more serious note. I had a comment last chapter on the characterization of Hadrian which I totally understand. There are a few things I'd like to address and I'd just like to make it clear that this is in no way an attempt to 'call out' anyone but I just thought that, in the case that many readers share the same view, it would be best to put here rather than as a direct response to a comment. 
> 
> My initial plan with this story (what little I had) was to tell it completely from others' perspectives and not Hadrian's directly. I'd not been great in the past at writing from other characters' points of view so I took it as something of a challenge for myself. Of course, different people think different things of the same person. Theo thinks Hadrian hung the moon in the sky; Dumbledore sees him as a weapon and Hermione hates his guts. Initially, I hadn't wanted anyone to know what Hadrian actually thought/felt/believe, but then the story kind of snowballed and here we are.   
> I would like to know, however, if the views expressed in the comment are reflected in many of my readers. If so, then I'll halt further updates and work on the chapter's I've already got out, tweaking and fine-tuning them and the like. I always strive to be a better writer and welcome constructive criticism so I'd rather put a pause on the story now and work on the weaker parts than get to, like, sixty chapters and have to do it then. 
> 
> On that note, I'd like to know two things:  
> a) is the character Hadrian understandable to you as readers? Taking into account that what's been shown has hardly scratched the surface and the fact that the protagonist always has an inner conflict, are there parts of him that clashes too horribly?  
> b) would it be best if I focused on tidying up the chapters that are out instead of writing more?
> 
> Your responses are welcomed and encouraged.


	23. Bend Until I Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of child abuse/neglect and a brief reference to leukaemia

_If there's no breaking then there's no healing, and if there's no healing then there's no learning  
\- One Tree Hill_

Narcissa paused with her cup raised to her lips, eyes lingering on the lines of parchment. Her nostrils flared as anger raced through her veins, potent and hot as freshly boiled water. She set the cup delicately on the floating saucer, crossing a slender leg over the other as she smoothed down the skirt of her robes. 

_Calm._

“What is it, love?” 

She turned to look at her husband, but she barely saw him with how fast her mind was whirring. Soft concern thrummed down their bond and she felt the instinctive, pacifying smile rise to her lips. Lucius took her hand in his _(she’d always loved how soft he kept them)_ and kissed her knuckles, seating himself beside her on their white settee. 

Absently, she handed over the letter, fixing her grey gaze to his. It didn’t take him long to read it- he read dozens of dreadfully boring documents a day, Draco’s paltry letter could hardly compare- and look to her with slightly wide eyes. 

“Andromeda?” 

She nods, folding the letter neatly (always neatly) and places it beside the tea tray. “It seems,” she starts lowly, fighting the fury, “that my dearest sister has decided to reacquaint herself with society once more.” 

Lucius scoffs. “Yes, well, I’ll see to it that any bid for guardianship is promptly denied. Fudge is well-aware of our close association with the boy and in the event that he gives us problems, there are a few rather _unsavoury_ characters that the Minister is _intimately_ _-”_

“No,” Narcissa says softly, and she smiles at her husband. Lucius pauses in the middle of his tirade, pale blue eyes flicking to hers. The smile on her face makes the blood heat in his veins and his breeches to feel suddenly constricting. “This is a family matter, darling. I will take care of dear Andy.” Narcissa’s smile is sharp when she slides a leg over her husband and seats herself in his lap. 

There is a pale ring of blue, hardly seen over the dilated pupils and he seems to have stopped breathing. Narcissa lowers her mouth to his jaw, kisses it softly, hardly a kiss at all. “It is your job, husband-mine,” she purrs in his ear, “to take care of _me_.” 

* 

Her hair is pulled into a simple but elegant bun with a few wispy strands curling about her face. Narcissa sighs and fixes the brooch to her robes, rubbing a bit at the silver to make sure it gleams. It had taken her five years to get this Mastery, a little longer than average as she’d found herself pregnant and having to defer slightly. Still, it was a badge of honour which she knew the woman inside would view favourably. 

She pushes the door open, hears the tinkering of the bell above and watches as eyes swing to her. It is a small shop, dusty and slightly too dark. She supposes that the quaint look was intentional, what with the overstuffed chairs and old, stripping wood desks. The floor is carpet- _carpet-_ and looks like it needs an army of wixen to throw a good _Scourgify_ at it. 

Narcissa pulls a smile onto her face as she nods to the gaping shop owner, making her way to the shelves at the back. There's the faint light of a bluebell flame which she knows from extensive reconnaissance (via Dobby, of course) will be her target. 

She doesn’t go to them straight away, of course (does she _look_ like a rookie to you?). No, she browses the shelves, trailing fingers over cracked spines and new editions, pulls a few from their place and flicks through them. 

For a moment, she contemplates starting another research paper. Draco certainly didn’t inherit his studious nature from Lucius. Oh, her husband was by no means dumb but he’d spent his Hogwarts days doing only what was necessary while trying to court her and recruit for the Dark Lord. As a daughter of the House of Black, Narcissa had had the freedom to indulge in her more bookish side when she wasn’t doing damage control for her wayward slob of a cousin and her blood-traitor sister, not to mention mediating Bella’s more... _extreme_ tendencies. 

Still, as nice as it is to reminisce, she came here for a reason. Narcissa makes sure to have her nose buried in the text, feet carrying her ‘absently’ over to the occupied corner. It’s all too easy to pretend that she doesn’t see the table leg, for her foot to catch it and the stack of books under her arm to topple onto the wood desk and land with a dull _thump_ onto the carpet. 

“Oh!” she exclaims, eyes wide before flicking to the startled person sat at the desk. She allows a small flush to rise to her cheeks. “I’m terribly sorry for that- Lena? Lena Travers?” 

The woman laughs and waves her wand. The books lift lazily and stack onto the table. “Davis, now, Narcissa.” 

Narcissa smiles, doesn’t let her distaste shine through. “Of course, I heard that you’d married that boy who kept dropping his books when we used to study together,” she laughs, and Lena joins in. The former Ravenclaw gestures to the spare seat and Narcissa sits, knees together, perched slightly sideways. 

“Yes, sorry Cissa but that trick works only once. Fool me once and all.” 

That startles a genuine laugh from her, her hand rising instinctively to cover her mouth. Lena is much freer with her laughter, bright blue eyes twinkling, and head thrown back. 

“I must say,” Narcissa says with a mildly disapproving look, “I was quite disappointed not to be invited to witness your nuptials myself.” 

Lena sobers slightly and offers a vaguely apologetic smile. “Yes, well, the war was underway and...Ethan and I weren’t exactly the safest. We had a small, private affair, just before Tracey was born.” 

Narcissa struggled not to let her brows rise into her hairline, instead nodding in understanding. Before an awkward silence could descend, she smirked. “It’s no issue. Maybe our children will get married some day. I understand they’re in the same House at Hogwarts.” 

At the mention of her daughter, Lena brightened. “If anything that doesn’t have a hundred pages and words on their spine manage to catch Tracey’s eye, I’ll eat my wand. That girl is so in love with knowledge it’s a wonder she didn’t end up in my old House.” 

Narcissa groans. “Well, if only I could get Draco half-as interested in his studies as Tracey is. My son is Quidditch crazy and spends most of his time coming up with strategies for Hadrian.” 

She watches closely as Lena sits up straighter and hides a smile. 

“You know of him, then? Hadrian Potter-Black.” 

Narcissa nods, brushing off some invisible lint from her robes. “Of course. We ran into him in Diagon Alley last summer and- Draco was so excitable, the dear, so we invited him over for tea. He’s family, you know, and he was staying at the Leaky Cauldron, so we opened our home to him for the remaining few weeks. He’s family, and you know how precious family is to us Blacks. We’re basically all he has.” 

“From the Black side, perhaps,” Lena says, and her eyes are bright with news. This is one of the reasons Narcissa cultivated this particularly acquaintanceship. Lena always was something of a gossipmonger back at school. 

Narcissa frowns. “The Potters are dead, Lena.” 

“Ah,” the mousy-haired woman says, a smug smile rising to her lips. “But the _Potiers_ aren’t.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

The diary sits at the bottom of Hadrian’s bag for weeks, untouched and unopened. 

He's too busy trying to win back Draco and Daphne while dealing with Theo’s sulking and, between that and all his classes, finds he hardly has time to do anything. 

Flint storms angrily into the common room one day, huffing and swearing, flinging hexes about (which is put to an abrupt stop by Kama and his court). Hadrian feels a grin pull at his lips as he watches the scene, Flint vibrating with anger. 

It swiftly falls when he’s told the news. “No Quidditch,” the Slytherin captain grits out between clenched teeth. 

The rest of the school is in a similar uproar and, in a bid to find someone to blame other than the very stern Professor McGonagall, attention shifts once more to Hadrian, though it doesn’t prove to be all bad. 

Lockhart, in all his infinite wisdom, took it upon himself to organise an ‘event’ for Valentine's Day, an announcement he makes one day in class. 

“There will be cherubs and hearts and _roses_ ,” the man sighs, stood atop his desk with his arms spread wide. The Gryffindor girls are tittering and batting their lashes, hair wrapped around their fingers. 

Hadrian exchanges disdainful looks with Draco until the blond remembers that he’s supposed to be ignoring him and turns away in a huff. Lockhart twirled his wand and hear-shaped bubbles burst from the end, filling the room along with its sickeningly sweet rose scent. 

“One _lucky_ student will have the honour of helping me to answer all of the inevitable letters that I receive next Tuesday as a study into the life of the fabulous and famous-” Hadrian rolled his eyes and batted away a particularly large bubble, ducking when it burst and red and pink confetti rained down around him. “Mr Potter!” 

He looked up, and Lockhart was beaming at him and the girls were glaring and- Blaise and Theo weren’t even trying to hide their laughter. 

“What?” he snapped, irritated. He’d never been anything that perfectly polite to the other professors, but Lockhart didn’t even deserve the sneer he often directed at the blond fraud. The man’s face shuttered for a second, brows pulling together and lips turning down, but the look was quickly replaced by his usual bright smile. 

“You have been chosen, you lucky pod!” Blaise snickered and Hadrian shot him a stinging hex. “If you will stay after class, I’ll explain your task to you. Class dismissed!” 

Daphne grinned cruelly at him as she passed, twirling her wand and whispering the _Ventus_ charm as she hooked her other arm through Draco’s, the two of them flouncing out with matching smirks. Hadrian resisted the urge to hex her, waving off Theo and the others as he turned his attention to the man at the front. 

“I won’t do it,” he said simply, folding his arms over his chest as he leant against the desk. Lockhart, who’d opened his mouth to speak, gaped for a while before finding his tongue. 

“Why ever not? I think Miss Greengrass has presented us with a fantastic learning opportunity! Why, I can’t help but notice that your popularity is a little...lacking lately.” 

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Well, thank you for your concern, professor,” he sneered, “but my popularity will be just fine. It is hardly a matter for anyone to worry over.” 

“Aha!” the blond man shouted, raising his hand in the air. “But that is where you are wrong. It would behove you, Mr Potter, to think a little more on your public appearance.” 

“My public appearance?” he parroted; brows furrowed. “Why should I care what the public think? They mean nothing to me.” 

Lockhart smiled. “Wrong again! It should mean _everything_ to you.” 

Hadrian scoffed. “The public is a fickle, stupid thing. Their opinions and regard changes with the wind. If I spent all of my time worrying about what they thought of me, I’d think of nothing else.” _Like you_ , he added silently. 

“Stupid and fickle they may be, but if you control them, then there is never a need to worry, is there?” 

Hadrian paused and looked at the man. 

The words buzzing about Lockhart’s head was more muted than others’ tended to be, but Hadrian could still make out the images of Lockhart smiling with reporters, waving to fans in the streets, shaking hands with the Minister when being awarded his Order of Merlin. He saw how the man need only _breathe_ for there to be a four-page spread in no less than three magazines the next day on his handsomeness and good deeds. 

Maybe the man was onto something. It would certainly be a lot less hassle to do what he had to (read: survive and become powerful enough so that nobody and nothing could ever pose a serious threat) if he didn’t have random people he didn’t know hating him for things he couldn’t care less about. This whole Heir situation was the perfect example- this year was for cultivating contacts, not deflecting spells in the halls and hissing at Gryffindors. 

“You surround yourself with...interesting people, Mr Potter,” Lockhart continued. “Influential and interesting but- if we can speak plainly, damning to one’s reputation.” 

Hadrian rose a brow and Lockhart fluttered his arms in the air. “A boy whose mother kills her husbands and another whose father was the Dark Lord’s right hand. Terrifying, absolutely _terrifying_!” Hadrian grinned sharply, but the man missed it. 

“Only you have a chance at winning over the public. You’re the Boy-Who-Lived. Your father was a renowned Auror, your mother a talented Enchantress and aspiring Healer. The whole world knows how you saved the Philosopher’s Stone last year.” 

Hadrian scowled. “Theo and Tracey were there with me.” 

“Yes, but nobody knows that, do they?” the Professor sighed, like a tragic hero right before their most heroic feat. Then he smiled. “But I suppose you haven’t completely wasted your fame. You’ve got quite a few classmates enamoured with you. It must be the whole mysterious, misunderstood spiel.” Lockhart raised his brows and winked. 

“What?” he asked, baffled. Lockhart just laughed and went around his desk to gather the stack of parchment and shove them unceremoniously into the drawer. 

“A natural, huh? I’m impressed. I’ve had my fair share of wixen. Word of advice: steer clear of anyone whose name begins with J- they're a few sickles short of a Galleon.” The man offered another wink and, in his absolute perplexity, Lockhart hurried on. “Not that you seem to need it, though. You seem to know how to pick them. He’s not the most influential of your entourage, but you’ve got Mr Nott quite infatuated.” 

Hadrian blinked. 

Infatuated? Theodore wasn’t _infatuated_ with him. That's just how friends were. That’s how Sally-Anne always was, how Draco sometimes acted. Theo _appreciated_ the privilege of being Hadrian’s friend- his _best_ friend. 

Sure, sometimes the other boy would stare at him for long periods of time, but Hadrian reckoned it was just because his friend could see magic slightly clearer than the others, and his magic was rather fascinating to look at with how it coiled and curled at its own whims. And yes, Theo had a tendency to scowl when Hadrian spoke with those giggling Ravenclaw girls or smile at the tittering Gryffindor ones, but- well, Theo _also_ had that feud with Draco, but Hadrian knew that preceded their meeting. 

Still, it wasn’t infatuation. It was mutual respect. After all, Hadrian stared at his friend just as much as Theo stared at him, and he’d been tempted to torture Granger when he’d cornered her weeks ago because she had taken to watching Theo whenever they crossed paths (which was totally unacceptable because Theo was _his_ friend first and Granger had no claim to him). That didn’t mean _he_ was infatuated. 

They just liked each other. Of course they did, they were friends- _best_ friends. 

Hadrian just scowled at the grinning blond. “I’m not entertaining this,” he ground out tersely, scooping his bag onto his shoulder and turning to leave. Before he walked through the door, he turned and pointed his yew wand at the man, delighting in the way his blue eyes widened and mouth hung open in shock. “And you’re not going to say a _word_ about this conversation.” 

* * *

Hadrian was still thinking about what Lockhart said that evening in the communal room. He'd not spoken much to the others, and when Daphne had made a snide remark about being important in the _real_ world, his magic had slipped and she’d choked on her pumpkin juice. 

The others hadn’t yet asked why he was in such a foul mood, though he could tell from the looks Theo threw him that the question would come soon. Before the other boy could speak, though, the door opened and Colin bounded in, towing a small, pale, redheaded girl behind him. 

Hadrian watched as the girl froze, brown eyes wide and cheeks flushing red. She had more freckles than her brothers, and her hair seemed darker, richer in colour, more like blood than carrots. 

Colin dragged her over to him, and Hadrian couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when the young muggle-born waved excitedly. 

“Harry,” Colin started, and he barely flinched when Hadrian’s magic washed over him. “This is Ginny. I finally managed to get her to come. Ginny, this is Harry- er-” Colin glanced at him. “Hadrian?” 

Hadrian just smiled. “Well met, Miss Weasley,” he said easily, holding out a hand. The girl’s cheeks reddened as she accepted and shook it. 

“I-um- well met, Heir Potter, Heir Black.” 

A curious mix of intrigue and glee ran through him as he motioned for her to take a seat beside him, simultaneously curling his magic around hers. 

Ginerva Weasley was...interesting in the way so few people proved to be. The twins’ magic had always felt confusing, inconsistent. Alone, they were contradictory things like sweet and sour, prickly and soft and cuttingly sharp all at the same time. But together- together they were like being set on fire while submerged in a bath of ice. 

Even so chaotic, there was an undercurrent of playfulness which made it lighter, not as dark and heavy as it otherwise would be. 

Ginny, though- she was something else. 

Her magic was...disjointed, like a broken bone that hadn’t healed quite right. It spiked and curled and pointed randomly, like a live, writhing thing. Against his own, it practically purred, shuddering pleasantly. Their magics curled around each other, danced and swayed. There was an edge of danger to it, like if either of them made the wrong move the other would implode. It stole his breath and made him dizzy. 

There was a noise, and he looked away from those wide brown eyes to see Theo glaring at them, honey-hazel eyes narrowed. He'd been working on his star chart for Astronomy but now it seemed the newcomer had his attention- and his ire. 

Hadrian couldn’t imagine what had set his friend off this time- for as bad as his temper was, Theo seemed to have something of a hair-trigger. “Harry?” 

Hadrian blinked and turned. 

Colin was staring at him with wide eyes. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sally-Anne and Blaise, close to the fire with a game of Gobstones between them and watching him. 

He softened his smile. 

“Yes, Colin?” 

“Ginny needed help with Defense. It’s why she’s here. You’re the best in your year and you’re really good so I figured you wouldn’t mind helping.” 

“Of course not.” He turned to Ginny. “Is it a spell or an essay?” 

Over the next week, Ginny kept coming to their study sessions in the communal room and Hadrian crafted a tentative friendship with her. She was still more likely to blush and stammer than look him in the eye or even at his face, but after the third day, Colin no longer had to drag her to get her into the room. The twins pulled him aside one day and dumped an armful of Honeyduke's chocolates in his arms for, what they called, "rescuing their precious little sister from the brink of crippling depression". He considered telling them that Colin had more to do with it than he did, but figured it couldn't hurt to have the troublemakers feel indebted to him. 

(He did, however, give Colin a few bars of chocolate and laughed at the look of wonder on the young Gryffindor's face when he bit into one)

Theo remained as surly and snipy as ever, but whenever the redhead came into the room, he’d make sure to move from wherever he was and plant himself on Hadrian’s other side, often leaning against him or randomly reaching into his pockets to get spare quills (which Hadrian _knew_ the other boy had enough of because Hadrian constantly stole Theo’s nicer Falcon-feather quills). 

_You’ve got Mr Nott quite infatuated._

Hadrian scoffed and fixed his tie, scowling at his hair. He'd run out of his great-grandfather's _Sleakeazy_ potion and now his hair refused to lie flat. All he needed was a pair of round glasses and he’d look just like the helpless little runt he’d been all those years ago. 

Scowling, he smoothed a hand over his robes, nodding once more to his reflection before he picked up his bag and left. 

The castle was quiet, so early in the morning, and Hadrian had the urge to ditch lessons and explore all the quiet and dusty corners, but then an older Hufflepuff, their Seeker Cedric Diggory, passed, tossing him a small smile, and the spell was broken. 

He was planning on working on that letter to Lyra Potier (which he _still_ hadn’t been able to write yet) so he fished in his bag for that notebook Moaning Myrtle had given him and thus missed the state of the Great Hall until he bumped into Diggory. 

He looked sharply up, prepared to berate the older boy but his words died on his tongue as he took in the sight of the Great Hall. 

It was decked out completely, from the enchanted ceiling to the stone floor, in varying shades of pink and red. The same bubbled that had floated about in Lockhart’s lesson hung in the air and there was the same sickeningly sweet scent of roses. The man himself was sat between a scowling Snape and an irritated-looking McGonagall in robes that matched the Hall and a wide, beaming smile. Dumbledore was dressed not dissimilarly, though his robes were more lilac than pink. 

Hadrian wondered whether he was still dreaming, but dismissed it instantly. He'd never dream up something so horrid as _this_. 

“Oh Merlin,” Diggory breathed, taking an abortive step back, and Hadrian wholeheartedly agreed. 

_Oh_ _Merlin indeed._

The rest of the school filtered in slowly, and after half-a-dozen raced back out with eyes as wide as their breakfast plates, the remaining students rushed in much quicker than ever before. There were shrieks and giggles and groans, and even a few of the Slytherins weren’t so skilled to hide entirely hide their reaction. 

He saw Daphne hesitate close by to him, but he didn’t spare her a glance, choosing instead to smirk at the scowl on Theo’s face. 

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he drawled, amused, as he watched his _best friend’s_ nose wrinkle in distaste. Nearby, Hadrian spotted Draco’s dark scowl, and as he met the blond’s eye, he arched a brow. Draco flushed his usual appealing shade of crimson and turned to snap at Crabbe. 

“This is a ridiculous Muggle tradition that holds absolutely _no_ value,” Theo sniffed, muttering the ventus charm to get the pink confetti off their food. 

Tracey, who’d rushed in (having been in the library again with Terry) and sat herself next to Blaise and across from Hadrian, rolled her eyes. “Oh give it a rest, Nott,” she said in her usual, curt way. “It’s supposed to be something called _fun_. You should give it a try.” 

Theo spluttered indignantly. “I have fun!” he protested. 

Blaise barked out a laugh. “Really? Name one fun thing you do?” 

“I play chess with Hadrian all the time.” 

“That’s only because Hadrian is both a sore loser and a masochist,” the dark-skinned boy rebutted, yelping at Hadrian’s stinging hex. “Okay! Okay! That’s only because you have no doubt you’ll win and Hadrian isn’t quite ready to accept that yet.” 

Hadrian tossed him another stinging hex. 

Millicent grunted and pushed the boy off her. “It’s too early for this,” she grumbled, sipping her tea. 

Theo hadn’t quite gotten over the implication that he wasn’t fun, though. “-and I also play Gobstones with Colin sometimes, after we’ve made sure that his Transfiguration essay is done to a proper standard and that he’s actually understood everything I’ve said and not just nodded his head so I’ll shut up.” 

Hadrian couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of him at that, missing how the annoyance on Theo’s face morphed into reluctant amusement when he leaned on his friend, clutching his sides. 

Lockhart stood then, and clapped his hands for silence. “Please, everybody!” he called, and his voice was amplified by what Hadrian though was a _Sonorous Charm_ , which he’d read about. The hall fell silent. “Happy Valentine’s Day! And thank you to all fifty-eight students who have sent me a Valentine’s. I have enlisted the help of Mr Potter so rest assured, each and every one will be answered.” 

Hadrian glared at the beaming blond and wondered if he could get away with setting his hair or clothes on fire. 

“But that is not all! Behold,” he clapped his hands twice, and the doors to the Great Hall flew open, like they had last year when Quirrell stumbled in on Halloween. Much the same as then, Hadrian had a strange, dreadful feeling in his stomach as he watched pudgy, surly-look dwarves march in. They wore nappies and golden, fluttering wings and carried in one hand a bow and the other a sack which was slung over their backs. 

“My card-carrying friends have so graciously agreed to delivering each Valentine- _verbally!”_ There was a collective gasp at that, and a surge of chatter. “And I am sure that my colleagues are just as eager to feed into the spirit of the holiday. Why, Professor Snape can show you the finer points of a Love Potion, and Professor Flitwick is known to be just about the best Entrancing Enchanter around!” 

Hadrian grinned as he watched the half-goblin bury his face in his hands and Snape scowl so ferociously it seemed like _he_ was trying to set the other man on fire. 

As they filed out of the Hall, Millicent caught up with him. “When you’re answering the letters tonight, Hadrian,” she started, “Make sure Lockhart answers mine personally.” 

He scowled and was entirely unrepentant about the babbling curse he shot at her in Transfiguration just before Professor McGonagall asked her a question. 

The dwarves turned out to be just as happy about their temporary employment as the rest of the students were. They had no compunctions about barging into lessons and reading out terrible love poems in deadpan, monotonous voices before trudging out, only to return moments later with another letter for another person. 

To his horror, Hadrian received no less than _eight_ love poems in the first three classes alone, and it was only practice that kept his cheeks from turning as red as Draco’s often did. In the halls, though, as another hunted him down, he turned to it with gritted teeth and calmly intoned “ _Petrificus_ _Totalus_ _.”_

The dwarf froze, toppling over, and Hadrian sighed and hastened away. 

That evening, when he was supposed to be helping Lockhart answer his fan mail, he sat instead in the owlery. He’d walked in on Zilia and Hedwig having some kind of screaming match, and when he’d gone to pet the snowy owl, his eagle had caused such a fuss that he’d had to retract his hand or risk losing his fingers. 

He'd _definitely_ named her well. 

There wasn’t really anywhere to sit, so he transfigured a loose sheet of parchment into a cushion and perched on one of the ledges that jutted out of the wall. It was one of his only moments of privacy, and it was about time that he tackle the problem of his letters. 

First, he wrote to Narcissa, as there was no doubt that Draco had already informed her of his correspondence with the sister who’d been disowned estranged for more than a decade. He assured her that, no matter what Andromeda and Dumbledore were angling for, he’d rather stay in the muggle orphanage that live with her. 

(A part of him didn’t agree with that. Magic- no matter it’s colour or legality- was always better than none at all) 

Next, he wrote a response to Andromeda. Her letter had mostly been about her wanting to get to know him, for them to grow closer. She’d said that it was important he had family he could rely on and who would only have his best interests at heart. Hadrian knew it would be easy to trust her- while undoubtedly a Slytherin, she held Light ideals and fed into the love and harmony rhetoric Dumbledore constantly harped on about. She wouldn’t double-cross him, wouldn’t _use_ him for her own needs or agenda if only because he was still a child. 

Still, though, there was something about the woman that he couldn’t quite pin down. For all that she’d married a muggleborn and was a Healer, she was _cold_. Where Narcissa wasn’t afraid to show her disdain or mock, Andromeda was cold and silent and _dangerous_. 

(Really, out of the two of them, Hadrian would mark Andromeda as the Darker sibling) 

Finally, once he’d had those two letters penned and sent (one with Hedwig, to Narcissa, and the other with Zilia to Andromeda) he turned his attention to the final one- the letter to Lyra Potier. 

Hadrian knew that he could have had the letter written and sent ten times over in the last few weeks, but part of him was _scared._ This was family- actual, real family that had nothing to do with politics and war and Dark Lords. This wasn’t family as a result of a ritual, but his actual blood and relation, people who’d known his father and been willing to take him in as a child. 

What if they didn’t like him? What if they thought he was evil, like all those adults who’d come to look at him in the orphanage? What if they made him change his friends, change his magic from Dark to Light, change _him?_ What if he wasn’t good enough? 

Irritated, he turned to the notebook, deciding it would be best to practice in that before committing anything to parchment. 

> _Dear Ms Potier,_
> 
> _I am writing to you_ ~~ _through a mutual friend of ours_~~ _in response to your letter concerning our_ ~~ _possible_~~ _relation which is a matter of great importance to me. I wasn’t aware that if not for the_ _ ~~meddling of~~_ _extenuating circumstances, we_ _ ~~would~~_ ~~ _should_~~ _could_ _have been-_

Hadrian growled, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. It was just a stupid letter. He’d written plenty of those before. It hadn’t been near as hard to write to Andromeda or Narcissa- or even the few times he’d written to Lord Malfoy. His training with Higgs and Pucey had gone well and he knew almost everything he need to know, including how to write formally but the words just---weren’t coming. 

He glanced down at the book to rewrite his letter for the fifth time but, to his astonishment, the words had vanished. Brows furrowed, he flicked through it. Maybe the pages had flipped when he’d looked away. But as he turned the pages, they all stared up at him, a bleached, blank white with nary an ink spot let alone a half-started letter. 

Then, something faint appeared, and grew steadily darker until there were words written in a neat, calligraphic script. 

_Hello. Who are you?_

Hadrian blinked down at the book, stared at the words until they disappeared. What was this? Was the book enchanted? Was it a trick from the Weasley twins? He’d heard about how they’d charmed their younger brother’s mirror at home to spew only insults. Could this be another one of their tricks? 

It couldn’t be, though. It was purely by chance that Hadrian was walking by the toilets, and while he didn’t put it past the terrors to mess with Moaning Myrtle, it wasn’t flashy enough to be them. 

_Hello?_

The words appeared again, and Hadrian shook his head and reached for his quill. 

**_Who are you?_ ** He wrote out shakily. He couldn’t help but notice that, despite the improvement from last year, his handwriting was a lot worse than the other’s. It took a moment for the words to sink in and new ones to appear. 

_I believe I asked you first._

Hadrian felt his brows fly up. This book, enchanted or not...was partly sentient. And sharp. He thought for a moment before he made a decision and scrawled his reply. 

**_Oh, sorry. I’m Rian Noir. Who are you?_ **

_My name is Tom Riddle. I’ve never heard the name Noir before. Are your_ _parents_ _wizards?_

**_My parents are dead._ **

There was a long moment before Riddle wrote back. _I’m sorry. That was indelicate of me._

Hadrian didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. 

_I’m assuming you’re at Hogwarts, then? What House are you in?_

Hadrian briefly considered lying but figured it would do him no good. He didn’t know enough about the other Houses to pretend to be in them. Besides, he had a feeling about where Riddle may have ended up. 

**_Slytherin. It was quite a shock to everyone but...it’s home._ **

_I was in Slytherin too. It wasn’t the easiest place, for a half-blood, but I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else._

Half-blood? He supposed it should have been obvious, what with a name like Riddle, but it wasn’t like he knew the name of every pureblood in Britain. He could have been from a minor family, one that was neither Noble nor Ancient. 

**_I know._ **

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Theo moved his castle. “Check,” he called for the fourth time that night, ignoring Pucey’s indignant squawk. 

Bored, he let his eyes pass over the common room. Hadleigh and her group of tittering half-wits were giggling over a magazine as usual and, if he cared a fraction less about the rules and inevitable repercussions, he would fire a curse so Dark at the girl, the very walls would shake. 

Instead, he took a deep breath in and let his gaze pass over them. 

Ever since... _helping_ Lockhart on Valentines, Hadrian had been acting shifty and disappearing for hours at a time. Tracey said she couldn’t see him in the library and with Quidditch cancelled, they had no idea where else he might be. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sally-Anne had said in the communal area one day. “He’ll turn up when he wants. Harry does this sometimes. He just needs some space.” Then she’d shown Theo a fascinating book on taking care of Thestrals. 

Daphne and Malfoy remained somewhat estranged from the group, but Theo could tell that the two blondes wanted to come back. The looks Daphne sent Tracey every time she walked around in deep discussion with Boot was downright pitiful, and rather matched the looks from Malfoy as he tracked Hadrian- who’d grown aloof and distracted lately. 

The Greengrass Heir was sat with Rosie Marchbanks and the other third-year girls. They were gathered around the latest publication from _Pretty Witch Season_ , an upstart magazine with Ayana Fenwick as the editor. 

Theo’s lip curled at the thought of the half-blood witch. Did those girls even know that the fancy new cosmetic charms they were trying out were inspired by _muggles_ , suggested by a half-blood whose claim to fame was off the death of her spineless, toady brother? Did they have any idea of the level of restraint it took not to _Incendio_ that trash rag or curse them so badly no cosmetic charm could hide the damage? 

He forced his honey-hazel gaze away. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on these things. Already Farley was slanting him pointed glances, and while the sixth-year girl made a good enough ally, Theo didn’t trust her. 

_(He didn’t trust anyone apart from Hadrian, which was...terrifying)_

Pucey groaned and flopped back, throwing himself onto the couch and twisting so that his head laid in Higgs’ lap. The other boy made a noise of protest but didn’t bother to push his friend off. 

Theo cocked his head to the side. 

They were awfully close, Higgs and Pucey, more comfortable around each other than many Slytherins allowed themselves to be. Maybe they were courting. He should ask Hadrian- though, for all he was a genius, the other boy seemed wholly oblivious to such matters. 

“You cheated!” 

Theo looked over to where Malfoy was glaring at Blaise. The dark-skinned boy rolled his eyes but was smirking as he handed the blond a fat stack of cards. 

“It’s hardly _my_ fault that you didn’t cover your cards, Draco,” he drawled. 

Millicent snickered and put down an eight of hearts which skipped Tracey, prompting the mousy-haired girl to glare at her. 

Malfoy didn’t seem able to accept defeat, however, as he shouted, “You weren’t supposed to be looking at my hand!” 

“And _you_ were supposed to keep your cards close to your chest. Or haven’t you heard?” 

Blaise’s tone was utterly mocking, and Theo couldn’t help his snort of amusement. Malfoy glanced over at him with a scowl-glare combo but Theo stared coolly back, unimpressed. The other boy may be incredibly wealthy and his father may have more power than he deserved, but Theo wouldn’t be intimidated by him. 

The Malfoy’s were a lying, conniving, wretched bunch, so for the pompous little Heir to call out Blaise for cheating was the highest form of irony. 

Malfoy seemed to understand Theo’s burning contempt for him because his pointy little face scrunched up for a moment into what Theo thought might have been frustration before morphing into his usual sneer. His silver eyes were narrowed in a poor imitation of the godfather he used to brag about all the time and his hands curled into fists around the thick stack of cards he held. 

Theo wanted to laugh at the clear sign of weakness. Here was the Heir to House of Malfoy, son of Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy, and the boy couldn’t even hide how he felt. How did they expect him to do anything, to become anyone? Theo bet even Weasley could get a rise out of him, and it would hardly take any more than a few nasty looks and barbed words for him to declare a Blood Feud with half of Wizarding Britain. 

Maybe he could nudge the boy into doing it. Theo imagined it wouldn’t be too hard. A few words here, a whisper there...maybe even Runcorn and Parkinson would help, considering how desperate they were for allies of their own. Just last week there’d been a rumour about an upper year Gryffindor hexing them in the halls. It wouldn’t be hard to get them to see his way of things- they had nothing to lose, nothing that Malfoy could do to them that made their lives in the castle any worse. What was a little schoolyard taunting to bringing down the son of the Minister’s closest adviser? 

Malfoy looked away, scowl fixed firmly in place. Theo grinned. 

“Malfoy,” he called easily, watching as the blond’s head snapped back to him. His silver eyes were still narrowed. 

“What, Nott?” he snapped. 

“A word?” The other boy tensed some more, and Theo ignored the way their entire circle were watching their interaction. At the other boy’s hesitation, he added, “Unless you’re too busy losing, of course.” 

Malfoy’s scowl deepened and he stood, throwing the cards at the others. “Fine,” he spat, and stomped up the stairs to their dorm. Theo sighed, tossing the others a small but sharp smile before following. 

By the time that he caught up with the blond, he’d already shooed Crabbe and Goyle out and stood waiting by the low sofa, arms crossed, and face set into a mulish hybrid of intrigued and irritated. 

“What did you want, Nott?” 

For a moment, Theo considered just cursing the git, but quickly dismissed it. The whole common room had seen them come up together, and Theo was still dealing with the fallout from Lord Pyrites rescinding his donations. He couldn’t deal with Lord Malfoy breathing down his neck as well. 

“This feud you’re having with Hadrian is stupid.” 

The other boy’s face shuttered. “This is family business,” he said brusquely. “It is not your concern.” 

Theo scowled. “When it means that Hadrian spends more time out of the common room and less in the company of our circle then it damn well is my concern.” 

Malfoy laughed. “Worried that he’s snogging the Weaslett, Nott?” he spat, smirking. Theo felt his blood heat but strove not to let it show. “He doesn’t need you babysitting him. Maybe that’s why he’s not here anymore; he got tired of you breathing down his neck all the time.” 

Malfoy’s face was twisted into a sneer and his hands were balled into fists. Theo scowled. He didn’t breathe down Hadrian’s neck. Malfoy had been the one getting winks and exchanging loaded glances with Hadrian when they’d come back from the Yule holidays. And it was Malfoy who was always lounging at Hadrian’s feet and looking at him like a lost Crup. 

“Don’t project,” he snapped, and watched as Malfoy’s cheeks darkened. “Need I remind you that the last time this happened Hadrian was losing himself in research on how to kill the Dark Lord- _again.”_

“I highly doubt Lockhart is housing the spirit of the Dark Lord,” Malfoy drawled, but Theo saw how he shifted back, eyes darting about the room. 

“You wouldn’t have thought it’d be Quirrell either, and yet-” 

“Yes, yes, I get it.” Malfoy scowled, and they were both silent for a moment. Then- there it was again. Malfoy’s brows were furrowed and his lips pressed together, eyes squinting slightly. He was so _open,_ so naively unaware of how transparent he was being. 

If _Theo_ dared be so open, Father would have sequestered him to his room with nothing more than etiquette books and soup. 

“You’ve never liked me,” Malfoy says suddenly, and he’s looking at Theo with intense silver eyes. Theo frowns. 

“I’ve never had a cause to. You’re an arrogant little prick.” 

Malfoy scowls at that. “I tried to be your friend. That first time.” 

Theo laughs at that. “You said Macmillan’s birthday broom was ancient and hadn’t been used for at least three seasons before demanding I follow you so you could show me yours.” 

Malfoy’s cheeks darkened again. “ _Macmillan_ is the prick here.” 

“I don’t disagree, but so are _you_. You are not entitled to my friendship.” 

Malfoy watches him for a moment, and his brows are furrowed again in a look of intense concentration. “Are you saying,” he starts slowly, like he’s just worked out an intensely difficult puzzle, “that I have to... _work_ or _earn_ your friendship?” 

Theo feels his lip curl before he can stop it. “You’ve never earned a single thing in your pampered little life, Malfoy,” he hisses quietly, and watches in delight as the other boy leans away, eyes wide. “You haven’t even earned Hadrian’s friendship. He only lets you tag on because of your _mummy_. Don’t look a gift unicorn in the face.” 

It's remarkable how quickly Malfoy’s face changes from its usual pale, translucent pallor to a bright, splotchy red. He notches his chin higher, and his silver eyes gleam with sudden challenge. “Alright,” he says, and then smirks. “But when Hadrian chooses me, you mustn’t take it too personally.” 

Theo stops resisting the urge to hex the other boy, and when he walks out, Malfoy is vomiting slugs onto the rug. 

_~~~Avada Eyes~~~ _

Hadrian is fascinated. 

**_I don’t understand,_** he scrawls hastily, hardly waiting for the words to sink into the page before he continued. **_I know that an extra rotation of the wrist prolongs the effect while also increasing range. Why then, do incantations and wand movements matter so much, if they can be improved or changed?_ **

It takes a moment for the words to sink into the pages, but not long before a response is printed in perfect, looping letters. 

_Honestly, Rian, they don’t. It's a crutch they teach to those new to magic, a way to channel magic. Associating a spell with a specific wand movement you will convince you that a spell cannot be executed without that wand movement. Remember that magic is about willpower and intent more than anything. If you believe that you can’t do it, then you won’t be able to. It's how teachers control the type of magic certain students can cast. The more advanced in your studies you get, the more intricate the wand-movements, which deters younger students from attempting spells that are too dangerous for them._

Hadrian stares at the words until they fade and he’s left blinking down at the smooth, blank page. His brows tug down into a frown. The explanation makes sense, theoretically, and crudely explains why he could do what he could; he must have a stronger will and greater intent than the average magical child (a fact that did not surprise him). Because he knew that he could do things, knew how to wield his magic without the crutch of words or wand movements, he did. 

But then... 

**_Are there any exceptions?_ **

_Exceptions?_

**_Yes, like_ ** \- He paused. It wasn’t wise to divulge one’s weakness to anyone, let alone a strangely sentient book, but that’s all it was, right? Hadrian wasn’t so sure. If the book- if _Riddle_ \- could respond to him and tell him things then surely Riddle could tell others? No, he couldn’t trust him, but he wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. 

He hadn’t realised that his quill was still pressed to the paper, creating a large blot. He hastily pulled it off, dipping it into the inkpot beside him. 

**_Yes, an exception. What if you’re doing everything right- incantation, wand movement, intent- and it still doesn’t work right? What then?_ **

Riddle didn’t take any longer than he usually did to respond, but it felt like an eternity to Hadrian. 

_Well then, one of them isn’t right. If your incantation and wand movement are technically correct, then the fault lies in your intent._

Then more words appeared. 

_What spell can you not perform?_

**_This is purely hypothetical,_** he scrawled quickly ** _. I think you’ll find that I am quite the competent spellcaster._ **

_I don’t doubt it,_ Riddle wrote back, and Hadrian could practically hear the amusement _. But you’re also an abysmal liar._

He scowled _._ ** _So says the conscious, bodiless book claiming to know what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is._ **

_I do know. I'll tell you- I'll show you. But you know my price._

Hadrian scowled again at the words. **_Why?_ **

_You'll have to be more specific, dear._

**_Why that? Why do you want to know?_ **

Riddle didn’t write back for a while, and Hadrian was just about to close the book when the words bled onto the page. 

_Don't you know? There's power in a name._

* * *

Hadrian paced the length of the classroom, running over words to say. Should he be coy about it and show his embarrassment? No, the man would see right through him. Should he compliment him first? People always responded more favourably if they felt that they were appreciated, and Snape had his fair share of achievements. 

The door to the classroom flew open as the man himself stalked in, hardly faltering at the sight Hadrian pacing inside. Instead, Snape made his way to his desk before pivoting sharply on his heel, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at him. 

“What is it you need, Mr Potter?” 

Hadrian attempted a grin. “Why, can’t I just visit my favourite teacher?” 

The man shot him a deadpan stare, rounding the desk and pulling a stack of papers closer. “I’d thank you not to insult my intelligence. Now what is it you want?” 

“Well,” he started, “it has come to my attention, professor, that in order for a spell to work there needs to be incantation, wand movement and intent-” Snape made a sound, and he looked sharply over. “What?” 

“That is knowledge first-years are made aware of in their first term, Potter. How are you only just learning this?” 

Hadrian scowled. “Of course I knew that. What I meant is that there’s a problem- something is interfering with my intent, though I can’t imagine what. My technique is flawless and I’m no Ronald Weasley so there’s no chance of butchering the incantation. Therefore, my intent is the problem.” 

He paused and slanted a glance at the dark-haired man, before resuming. “You are a competent wizard. You are second only to the Headmaster in magical strength. You must be able to help.” 

Snape looked- amused? The corner of his lip twitched, almost as if he was fighting a smile. Hadrian scowled again. 

“I’m grateful for the praise but flattery is wholly unnecessary to get me to help you. You should know that, by now.” 

Hadrian shrugged, and Snape sighed. The man cast a look at the stack of papers in front of him before muttering something to himself and waving his wand. The papers lifted into the air and started sorting themselves into two piles. Hadrian frowned. 

“What are they doing?” 

Snape glanced at the growing piles. “Sorting themselves. Those less than the required length-” he pointed to the shorter stack, though it was outnumbered by only a few “-will automatically get no more than a Troll. It will help for later. Now, what spell is it that you need help with?” 

Hadrian watched the man flick his wand about the room, pushing the desks back and clearing a space. It made humiliation burn in his chest that such preparation was unnecessary- this spell wasn’t hard or flashy or dangerous in any way but...he just couldn’t do it. 

Clearing his throat, he looked steadily at his Head of House before turning on his heel and marching to the door. When Snape didn’t follow, he motioned for the man to do so, which he did somewhat cautiously. “Lock the door.” Snape shot him a sharp look but Hadrian didn’t back down. With narrowed eyes, Snape locked the door, and as he heard the lock click into place his heart sped up. 

Hadrian cleared his throat, and mentally ran through the lesson in his head. He saw the way Flitwick waved his wand, heard the way the words rang in the air. Then he focussed, tried to coax his magic into obeying him as it did for everything else. 

Then, he raised his wand, and called clearly “ _Alohomora_!” 

Nothing happened. 

Frustration and contempt clawed at his gut. He raised his wand and tried again. “ _Alohomora_!” 

The lock stayed firmly in place. 

Something dark and ugly stirred in his chest, and Hadrian turned quickly from the door to look at Snape. The man’s face was curiously blank. 

“What do you think of, Hadrian, when you attempt to cast the spell?” 

He looked up into those dark, unreadable eyes and emotionless face with a frown on his own. Though he couldn’t see anything on his face, he _knew_ that the older man had an idea about what the problem was. 

The only problem was, Snape was so hard to read. 

Everybody else’s thoughts were right there, written on their forehead or floating in the space around them, easy to decipher, flashes of words and pictures which were easy for him to pick up, pull together and create solid thoughts from. It wasn’t linear in how it worked, there weren’t words and sentences like people thought there were but impressions and sentiments; intangible, abstract things that exist only in the mind. 

He’d always been able to string them together, to delve into a person’s...landscape- for lack of better word- and work out what was being created, shifted, moved about and reconstructed. It was easy to slip in and then out. 

With Snape, though, there was nothing. No images, or words, no flashes of inspiration or glowing moments that signified happiness, no stormy, dark moments that signified anger. Just...nothing. 

There were only a handful of people who he couldn’t read clearly; the Headmaster, both of Draco’s parents and Snape. Even Andromeda, though somewhat distant and fuzzy, hadn’t been impossible to read if he tried really hard. Hadrian wanted to know _why_. 

His magic unfurled from where it rested coiled inside him, reaching out into the space between them. Normally, he didn’t have to think about entering a person’s landscape; it happened naturally. This, though, was like telling himself to breathe, or reminding himself to blink. It was awkward and stuttering, hard to strike a balance. 

Snape was still looking at him, expecting an answer, but Hadrian was too focused on reaching for the words he knew had to be there, to see what Snape was hiding- 

_There!_ He brushed against something cold, something that made dread drip down his spine and fear clutch at his heart. There was a sudden foreboding sense that he wasn’t supposed to be there, that he wasn’t welcome, that if he stayed for any longer he’d be swallowed whole and never find his way out. 

In front of him, Snape’s eyes widened and then narrowed, his lip curling as his face pulled into a sneer. Then Hadrian blinked, and his control slipped, and in the split-second that it all happened, his magic lanced out and tried to reach that place again. 

The result was instantaneous. He felt like he’d struck a wall and been rebounded back into his own landscape harshly, forcibly, shattering through the shaky walls he’d created over time, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the stone floor. 

“Hadrian?” 

He stood quickly, dusting himself off, wavering slightly. It took a moment to blink the stars from his vision, but every time he closed his eyes, he’d see his cupboard or the basement imprinted on his lids, dark, cold, lonely. His heart hammered in his chest and fear clawed at his throat, clogging it, making it sore like it used to be when he cried. 

_(But he hasn’t cried in so long, in years. He won’t cry now._ Harry _cried._ Boy _cried._ Freak _cried. He was none of those. He was Hadrian Potter-Black. He wasn’t_ weak _)_

Still, his heart beat a harsh rhythm against his ribs and the images refused to go. They were there every time he blinked. 

Blink. 

_(His cupboard, dark, dusty, safe)_

Blink. 

_(The basement. Cold. So cold. Were his fingers still there? He couldn’t feel them.)_

Blink. 

_(His stomach was growling again, loud and jarring in the silent darkness under the stairs. It sounded like Uncle Vernon.)_

Blink. 

_(These children don’t like him either. These adults won’t save him. Nobody has. Nobody does. Nobody will)_

Blink. 

The classroom came back into focus. Snape was stood there, still, statuesque, pale. The man didn’t even look to be breathing. Hadrian wasn’t sure if he was, either. Maybe if he did, he’d shatter. He'd never felt more raw, more fragile, more _vulnerable._

He looked up. 

The look on the man’s face let him know that he’d _seen_. Somehow...his secret was not-so-secret anymore. Snape had _seen_. 

“I don’t-” he started but...what could he say? He made another abortive try but it was just as futile. 

Frustrated, helpless, _burning,_ he turned on his heel and stormed out, letting the door slam angrily behind him. 

That night, he dreamed. 

_His body was contorted, bony knees curled into his chest and elbows tucked into his sides. It was dark, pitch-black, but his eyes had long since adjusted. Across from him, no more than an arm’s distance, was the drawing he’d tacked to the wall some months ago on his birthday. It was on some newspaper Uncle Vernon had stuffed into the new recycling bin Aunt Petunia had just gotten at the behest of Mrs Brown at Number Six. He had been ordered to tie up the bags and take the trash out and- well, nobody would notice the newspaper tucked under the too-large shirt._

_Besides, the newspaper was much more interesting than the picture books Aunt Petunia always bought for Dudley that the boy never read. And the drawing he had done was much better than those proper ones that Dudley pointed and laughed at._

His _showed him holding hands with a man much taller than him but who also had glasses, and with a woman with long, long red hair that trailed in the grass and a shaggy black dog._ His _showed a happy boy with parents who loved him and didn’t get themselves killed in a car crash just to get away._ His _showed him to be happy- not the sniffling, trembling mess that he really was._

_His head throbbed in time with his hands, which still wept from small cuts and scrapes, and his side ached and made it hard to breathe. The mattress was rickety and lumpy and as he squeezed his eyes shut, he pretended that he was anywhere but in the cupboard beneath the stairs._

_He just wanted to be_ _normal_ _. Dudley got to play and eat ice scream and run about screaming and he wanted that too. He thought that if he worked extra hard, cleaned extra well and was extra silent, then Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon might let him do those things as well._

_But despite how much he hoped, no matter how many times he wished or prayed, he knew he wouldn’t be Normal. He couldn’t be._

_He knew that he had a... a Thing._ _It was like a secret disease that couldn’t be cured. It was something to be hidden and ignored and pushed away. He knew that if he could just...stop being Freaky and Bad, they would love him the same way they loved Dudley._

_Uncle Vernon said that the M word didn’t exist, but if he wasn’t magic then what was he? He knew that it was real, knew it the same way he knew hunger. His job was to_ stop being it _. If he could stop being the M word maybe then he’d stop being Boy or Freak and start being...well, he didn’t know who he was, but he was pretty sure his name wasn’t either of those._

_What he did know, though, was that it was important to swallow his M until it wiggled about in his belly, even if it felt like swallowing angry worms that had been set on fire. He had to do it anyway, had to ball it up until it was the size of his fist, had to make sure that it didn’t get out, that it was pushed down and down and down. He knew that M was Bad and so long as he was Bad, Aunt Petunia would forever smack him in the head so hard his ears were left ringing for hours and Dudley would always knock glasses over that he’d have to clean up and cut his hands on and barge him into counters so that his side_ _hurt_ _and it was hard to breathe._

_He was curled up on his bed, concentrating on pushing it away, trying to make it disappear...this M word that was so Bad._

* * *

His concentration was shot the next day, so much so that he turned in an average potion in class. Snape sneered down at it, flicking his wand and banishing the potion inside. “Abysmal effort, Potter,” the man sneered, dark eyes flicking up to hold his. “Detention this evening, seven o’clock.” 

Hadrian fumed all the way back to his seat and right through the rest of the day. His mood did nothing to dissuade the rampant rumours about him being the Heir, and he sneered and scowled at most everybody as he went about his day. 

When the time came for his detention, he stalked silently out of the common room and towards the potions classroom, rapping his knuckles on the door a full five minutes before he was expected. Snape’s deep voice called for him to come in and he did so, attempting to wrangle his face into the impassive mask he’d perfected early on. It was always especially hard to keep up with Snape, but he’d manage it. 

Snape watched him with those dark eyes as he sat down at the desk he usually used, hands folded across the desk as he waited. They stared at each other silently for a long moment before a muscle in Snape’s brow twitched and he stood. 

“I understand,” the man started, “that you have had a most unsavoury childhood, or not much of one at all. It is a fate I truly wish you’d been spared.” 

Hadrian instinctively sneered. He didn’t want _pity_. “Yes, well, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, wouldn’t they?” 

A brief flash of amusement scattered across his face. “Indeed. You have been handed a harsher lot in life than most, but it is also up to you to ensure that you have the best tools to dispose of those who wish to harm you. The only way you can do that is if you are honest with yourself and, as your self-appointed coach, honest with me.” 

Hadrian looked away, then, clenching his jaw, but Snape went on. 

“I’m sure you know that I saw what you were thinking about. I saw what it is you see every time you attempt the unlocking charm. Your execution of the movements is flawless and your utterance of the incantation infallible. The problem lies in getting your magic to respond, and we both know that you have no shortage of magic to spare such a plebian charm. 

“The problem, therefore, lies in getting your magic to _respond_. Too many witches and wizards see their magic as a separate thing, detached from ourselves and gifted to us through some preternatural cause. While this may be true in some aspects, our magic is as much a part of us as our brains or our hearts, as our very blood. Tell me what happens to people with leukaemia.” 

Hadrian blinked and cast his mind back to a muggle book he’d read a few summers ago. “Their body produces abnormal white blood cells, which are integral in the body’s defence as potent infection fighters.” 

Snape nodded. “Exactly. Now, your body and organs are your magic. Your experiences are your white blood cells, except bad experiences, memories and emotions are abnormal white blood cells. Ordinarily, a person has more good experiences than they have bad, and magic is not impaired in any way. But if the opposite should occur, and you have more bad experiences than good, then these memories will negatively affect your body and thus, your magic.” 

Hadrian shook his head. “No,” he breathed, looking up at the man. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. I can do everything else- _everything_ else! It's not because of- because of _that_. I told you, there’s something wrong with my _intent_.” 

Snape offered him a patient smile and Hadrian wanted to claw if off. 

“Exactly. What is intent?” 

“How badly you need something to happen.” 

Snape’s brow twitched, but he simply inclined his head. “Yes. And, oft gone unsaid, intent is paired with belief- how much do you believe that you can do it. What would happen if you want something to happen, but don’t believe you could do it?” 

“You won’t.” 

Snape was silent. The room was silent. Hell, the _castle_ was silent. Hadrian couldn’t hear the usual pound of feet on the floor above or the chatter of students in the dungeons. It was all so quiet, so deafeningly silent. 

He blinked. 

“So? What does that even mean?” 

Snape was leaning against his desk, hands braced beside him, and eyes pinned unwaveringly on his face. “I’m sure there is a brain under all that hair. Use it.” 

Hadrian glowered at the man. He hadn’t said anything Riddle hadn’t, anything Hadrian didn’t already know. He was so much better than the others because he already knew what he could do with magic, was already aware that it would obey him. That wasn’t his problem. He knew that his intent to achieve the spell was sufficient- it was just the same as for everything else- and of course he believed that he could do it. He may not have been able to _then_ , but what was a simple unlocking charm compared to Blood Magic? 

Hadrian scowled. 

“They’re not the problem,” he ground out between gritted teeth. 

“They _are_ the problem,” Snape retorted sharply. “If there is anyone in this world that you are honest with, let it at the very least be with yourself if not with me.” 

Hadrian felt his blood heat and something like helplessness stir in his gut. “They can’t be the problem,” he tried again. “You must be wrong-” 

“Wrong,” the man scoffed. “And if I take a foray into your mind as you so indelicately tried to do to me yesterday, I’ll find you have 100% belief every time you attempt the spell that you can achieve it?” 

Hadrian gaped and spluttered for a while. “Of course!” he shouted. “I know I can do it!” 

“And yet, you never have.” 

Hadrian growled, frustrated, and started pacing. “That’s because I need help to do it! Sally-Anne couldn’t cast the _Lumos_ straight away and I helped her. Draco needed help with the Tickling Charm, so I helped him. I was better so I helped them. You're better so _help me!”_

He stared at his Head of House with wide, wild eyes. Snape stared steadily back. 

“You know what the problem is, Hadrian,” Snape said evenly. 

Hadrian wanted to refuse, wanted to shake his head and run away. Instead, he stood blinking up at Snape with wide eyes. “But how…” he started feebly, “how can my...can these... _memories,”_ because he certainly wasn’t about to start talking about emotions, “be preventing my magic? It’s magic!” 

Snape nodded. “Yes, and just like everything else, it wishes to take care of you. To it, and to _you_ , achieving those spells will displease the muggles, and result in harsh punishment. It’s a combination of your magic and subconscious blocking you.” 

“But it’s _magic!_ It’s supposed to do what I want! It’s not supposed to- can’t allow those- those _vermin_ to stop me! _They’re not supposed to stop me!_ ” 

In his anger, a few of the tables broke, legs snapping clean off and crashing to the floor. The jars lining the classroom shattered. 

Hadrian had felt anger before, had been furious and seething but this- this was a scorching rage of kinds he’d never felt before. It was pure, molten fury that flowed like magma through his veins. It was scorching, steaming agony that boiled his blood. 

He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything. 

Static roared in his ears. 

His skin itched, burned, felt too small, like he was trapped and being forced into a corner he’d grown too big to fit in. 

He longed to burst, to rip at the seams of this... _thing_ that confined him and let the world know his fury. 

It wasn’t _fair_. They shouldn’t be able to have power over him anymore. They shouldn’t be allowed to _breathe_ , let alone affect how he could do magic. Magic was _his_ , his Thing that nobody could take away. Magic made him Bad but he’d stopped worrying about that a long time ago and embraced it entirely. 

Why couldn’t it do the same? Why didn’t magic want _him_? Why didn’t _anyone_ want him? What did he have to do, who did he have to prove himself to, to prove that he was worthy? 

_(He was. He swore he was. He’ll prove it if he needs to.)_

Hadrian blinked. 

The room was a mess. The desks were no more than heaps of splintered wood and papers were strewn all over the classroom. The potions lining the sides of the room had shattered, their glass glinting dimly in the single, bluebell flame that hovered in the centre of the room. 

Dazed, almost as if he were in a dream, Hadrian looked at the man stood in front of him. Snape’s robes were torn and his hair was in disarray. Hadrian wasn’t sure what to call the look on his face, but it reminded him of the way his chest used to ache when he was thrown in the basement. 

The world turned fuzzy and tilted. Arms wrapped around him, supported him, kept him from falling. There was a low, melodious voice saying something, nonsensical words with little meaning but soothing in their cadence.

There was a part of him (a part he thought others imagined Harry Potter to be like before they met him) that wanted to sink into Snape's arms and accept the help that the man who professed to care offered; but the larger part, armed with history and experience, guided by paranoia and nurtured by years in the tender care of adults who hated him, wanted to jump away, run and never return. 

Still, a cautious, fluttery ball of hope flickered in his chest, small and fragile, easily shattered, but there nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I must apologise for the long wait. I've had this chapter written for ages but I was so convinced that it was crap. I got a few comments today (yesterday?) telling me to update and it really kicked my butt into gear, so that's for that everyone.   
> I'm glad you're all enjoying the story so far. It gets hard sometimes to know what you guys think of it so your comments are all really appreciated. 
> 
> On that note, what did you guys think? Drop a comment and a kudo!


	24. Pawn to E4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone!  
> If you guys could have seen my panic this morning when I went to post this chapter, I nearly had a meltdown thinking my story had somehow gotten completely lost or something. Welp. Enjoy!

_By and large, language is the tool for concealing the truth_

_-George Carlin_

Andromeda had always been detached and somewhat reserved as a child, and time seemed only to have exacerbated it. 

Narcissa watched from her place by a set of large, fancy French windows as her sister scanned the room. She'd deliberately chosen one of the nicest restaurants for this meeting. Before the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692, wizarding folk had to blend in with muggles, and that meant attending social functions and being seen. Pureblood families saw to it that they were pillars of polite society, and when the Statute came into effect, they couldn’t all just disappear. 

Which led to the creation of gentlemen’s clubs. 

White’s Gentleman Club was founded in 1963 and its membership was the most exclusive one around, with three dozen vouches needed in order for new members to be considered (and that was disregarding the hefty membership fee). Officially, it was the ‘it’ spot for muggle elites. 

Unofficially, it was the entrance to the little-knownWizarding district Uplor Place, popular amongst elite wixen.

Narcissa knew that her sister hadn’t likely been back to this particular establishment since her sixth year at Hogwarts. The room was decked out in soft colours, creams and beige and gold. The tables were round and draped in silk tablecloths, topped with small, fragrant bouquets of roses and peonies. 

Andromeda didn’t appear phased, however. For all that she was in the profession of caring for others and the mother to a half-blood witch, her older sister’s grey-blue eyes were cold and flat, her nose lifted slightly and face impassive. Narcissa thought that if she squinted a little, if her sister’s jaw was a little less square and cheeks a tad lower with her own blond locks superimposed over Andromeda’s black hair, it could be Druella Rosier staring reproachfully and disdainfully back at her. 

_Oh, the irony_ , she mused silently. It seemed that in her bid to run as far away from the Blacks as she could get, Andromeda ended up turning into a carbon copy of them. If only the family could see her now; disregarding her muggleborn husband, Narcissa imagined they’d be rather proud of her. 

When Andromeda made it over to her table and took her seat, they sat across from each other not saying a word. The silence was weighty, thick with tension and twenty years of lost time. 

Narcissa couldn’t help but be acutely aware that while this was still her sister, neither of them was the same people. This was not the same person who hexed their cousin when he hexed her hairbrush to turn her hair blue, nor was she the same person who had pleaded for her sister not to run off with the mudblood and leave her behind. Everything from the stern ponytail Andromeda had her hair in, to the shiny Mastery pin on Narcissa’s elegant robes said that. 

Andromeda doesn’t speak as she picks up the menu and taps her wand against it, waiting patiently as a small cup and saucer floats over to her. She doesn’t stir any sugar in as Narcissa had done, doesn’t wait for it to cool, just takes a small sip before putting it down and flicking her cold gaze up. 

“Narcissa,” she says, and her voice is smooth and husky, “you have until I have finished with this coffee to say whatever you think you need to.” 

“An ultimatum, sister?” she sneers in response. “How very barbaric.” 

Andromeda doesn’t smile. “I have appointments to keep,” she says evenly and then takes another sip. Narcissa wonders how she isn’t burning herself. “So do get on with it.” 

It takes effort to curb the instinctive scowl that tries to rise to her face, but she manages it. Though her sister seems to have a gift for reducing her to childhood pettiness, she can’t give the woman the satisfaction. 

“It’s about Hadrian, of course,” she says instead. 

“Of course,” Andromeda echoes. 

“He told me that you’ve been in contact with him, at the behest of Dumbledore. Odd, wouldn’t you say, considering you’ve never seen or spoken to your own nephew?” 

She watches the dark-haired witch’s nostrils flare slightly, but there is no other outward reaction. “The boy who goes around calling people mudblood and blood-traitor, you mean?” she asks while raising a dark brow. Narcissa waves. 

“He is a child, parroting what he hears. Surely you understand that, at least? I remember a certain girl who laughed at your hat one time-” 

“We’re not here,” her sister cuts in swiftly, “to take a trip down memory lane. You wished to speak about Hadrian, so speak. I have afforded you more curtesy already than you deserve.” 

“Oh excuse me,” Narcissa says in a mock-deferential tone, “for wanting to speak to my own sister after twenty years of seeing neither hide or hair of her.” 

This time, Andromeda’s lip curls. “And I could have gone twenty more. If this is all you have called me here for...” 

Narcissa sniffs, but concedes. Now was not the time to open _that_ pouch of flobberworms. “For Hadrian. This is important, and it would behove you to listen.” 

Narcissa watches her sister regard her coolly for a moment before retaking her seat. She picks up her coffee and raises a brow but says nothing. Narcissa sighs. 

“Hadrian told me that he thinks you and Dumbledore will push for you to become his magical guardian, though I can’t understand why. He is just as close by blood to me and he’s very good friends with Draco-” 

“Oh please,” he sister scoffs, and it is the most human sound Narcissa has heard her make yet. “We both know why Albus is reluctant to relinquish the Boy-Who-Lived into the hands of a known Death Eater and the Dark Lord’s right hand. 

“Lucius was found not guilty by the Wizengamot,” she says easily, because really, after twelve years of repeating herself to all the ladies of high society, the spiel gets really old. “And it would be _me_ who has guardianship over Hadrian.” 

“You’re _married_ to Lucius Malfoy,” her sister shoots back, and her eyes are flash with ardent hatred. 

There's a retort waiting on the tip of Narcissa’s tongue, one that sounds a bit like _and why exactly was I pushed into marrying him?_ Or _maybe I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been a selfish bint and left_. Instead, she swallows, and it’s very, very bitter, and settles in her stomach like Firewhiskey. 

“I didn’t call you here to argue, Andromeda,” she says instead, and her voice is flat and her face impassive. It was clear that there was too much bad blood, too much history for them to ever be on good terms. Instead, she’d approach this as she did every other conversation she had with people who hated her and her husband but were too weak or afraid to do anything about it. 

“Yes, I’m still waiting to find out why you _did_.” 

“You want Hadrian to be with you and I know he needs to be with me and the family-” 

“No.” 

Narcissa blinks. “Excuse me?” 

Andromeda pins her with a cold stare. “I said no, Narcissa. Hadrian will not be handed over to a bunch of brainless, bigoted fools who are as likely to kill him for who he is as they are to take him in.” 

“Hadrian is the Heir,” she hissed back. “He has a right to know the family-” 

“He had a right to his _own_ family but you don’t seem particularly worried about that,” Andromeda rebutted. Then, she leant forward, and Narcissa felt a cold drip of dread slide down her spine. “You conveniently forget, sister, that the only reason we’re here having this argument is because of that awful, joke of a Dark Lord.” 

Her words are barbed, pointed, aimed directly at her. She’s used to people speaking about her husband, used to the stares and the whispers and the gossip, but somehow this catches her off-guard. Perhaps it’s the ardent dislike in her sister’s eyes or the curling, sneering disdain on her face. Either way, Narcissa feels her face heat. 

“You have no right to judge me, Andromeda,” she seethed from between gritted teeth. “You left. You got out. _I_ had to stay and do everything you and Bella didn’t.” 

“So you joined the Death Eaters?” 

“So I stayed _alive_.” She’s glaring now, and her breaths are coming harsh and- she needs to calm down. Deep breath, hold it for five, release for seven. “I had no choice. I married the man that would provide me the most stability no matter what happened. I gave birth to my son at the height of war. I bowed and scraped to people like _Dumbledore_ at the end of it.” 

“You’ve never bowed or scraped in your life, Narcissa,” her sister drawled almost lazily, and the blonde couldn’t help the sneer that pulled at her lips. 

“That is the difference between you and me, sister,” she said softly, in control once more. She leaned back in her seat. “You refuse to bow. Your pride blinds you. I do what I must for family, and so does Hadrian.” 

“He has no family!” Andromeda snapped. “The Blacks will use him for their own agenda and exploit him as the Boy-Who-Lived.” 

“Oh, and the Light won’t?” Narcissa parried, raising a delicate brow. “I’m certain that there was a scandal about an Enchanted Mirror over Yule during his first year...and the dreadful business with Quirrell too.” 

“Are you implying that adults pushed him into those scenarios?” 

“I’m _implying_ that it is mighty suspicious how often he is put in harm's way while under the delicate care of your precious Dumbledore.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better.” 

“Of course I am!” Narcissa’s hand flew to her chest. “He was with me for the majority of the summer and there was not _one_ incident-” 

“Apart from him mysteriously getting lost in the Floo and having to hitch a ride on that abominable bus.” 

“That was an accident and was thoroughly investigated by the Minister himself. It is believed that his own magic interfered somehow with the process of Flooing.” 

Andromeda’s face did something funny then. It was like she wanted to frown or cry or curse someone all at the same time. It flickered across her face for only a second before it was gone. 

“I’m sure,” she demurred. “Was this all? Lady Cornfoot would be-“ 

“Hadrian wants family, Andromeda, and he’s found them.” 

The dark-haired witch blinked at her sister. “Family?” Narcissa nodded. “He has no other family.” 

“Doesn’t he?” 

“The Potters are dead.” 

“Are they?” 

Narcissa watched her sister’s nostrils flare again and didn’t bother to suppress her smirk. 

“Speak plainly, Narcissa, or I _will_ leave.” 

Narcissa laughed. “Be my guest, Andy dear. It won’t change the fact that if Hadrian doesn’t come with me, he most certainly won’t be with you. Why, I believe he won’t even be in Britain for long.” 

The older witch straightened, shoulders squaring as her pale eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat?” she asked in a low, warning tone. Narcissa just smiled. 

“Oh no, Andy. Let’s call it a prophecy, shall we?” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Albus hummed to himself as he pushed the button in the lift, watching the creaking doors rattle shut before it went zipping about. The journey was surely nauseating, and if he were less seasoned, he’d probably have choked. But alas, he’d spent a century perfecting the art of sucking on a lemon drop and going about whatever business he had, be it duelling wizards or being flung about in the Ministry lift. 

At last it settled and the doors rattled open. The lift didn’t go all the way down to the tenth level, so he’d have to make his way down from the ninth. As he passed closed doors, their wards humming in warning, he mused briefly on his short-lived dream of becoming an Unspeakable. Albus had been always been a rather talented student, humble but brilliant (if he could humbly think so). His father had never been much of an intellectual, nor had Aberforth, but he’d thought that he wouldn’t be so unhappy with his life if it was dedicated to exploring the limits of magic, if there was such a thing. 

It was this line of thinking that had made him so drawn to Gellert, a boy with ideals of grandeur and had a way of making the impossible seem entirely plausible. 

Albus sighed and shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on such things. He'd taken the final step to the tenth floor and, thinking back to the summons scroll he’d received last week, pushed the door to Courtroom Four open. 

The room beyond was a cacophony of noise, not unlike the Great Hall at any given moment of the day, and the thought brought a smile to his face. Many of these people, too, had been his students at some point or other, though most loathed it when he pointed it out. 

“One would think,” started a sharp voice on the far side of the room, “that as Chief Warlock, you would value our time enough to be punctual.” 

Albus smiled and glanced up to where the man sat. Lord Parkinson sat scowling down at him, and the mulish look on the man’s face only made the smile on Albus’ that much wider. 

“I think you’ll find, Lord Parkinson, that this meeting commences in exactly thirty-five seconds. Not only am I on time, but I am _early_.” 

Albus takes his seat then. It’s plush, a deep purple that matches the robes he’s forced to wear. He’d tried, in the early days, to have the colour changed, or to at least have the freedom to where whichever robes suited his mood, but Minister Spencer-Moon had been firm in his veto and every Minister since followed his ruling. 

When the silent alarm he’d set rang, Albus cleared his throat, casting a soundless _Sonorous_. “I hereby call this meeting of the Wizengamot of Great Britain on the twelfth of March 1993 to order. Disciplinary hearing of one Frankfurt Rostibus Sparks, hereby accused of possession of a Category 3 Dark Artefact. Before we bring the accused in, are there any questions?” The room remained silent. Albus smiled. “Excellent. If you would.” He motioned to the two Aurors who jumped and left to get the man. 

When they returned, they had a balding man between them, a furious scowl fixed to his face. He was shown to the accused’s seat, though unlike some of the other courtrooms, there were no chains attached or straps to keep his hands bound. 

“Mr Sparks, you stand accused of possession of a Category-” 

“Yes, yes man!” Sparks snapped. “I am well aware of what you have dragged me down here for!” 

Albus chuckled. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to double-check. You are aware, then, that as of 31st of December 1992, it was made illegal to possess any Dark Artefact not approved of by Ministry-sanctioned Curse Breakers?” 

“Yes, but-” 

“And are you also aware that breaching the law is punishable by the Honourable body of this Wizengamot court?” 

“ _Yes_ , but-” 

“Therefore you are aware that your possession of a Category 3 Dark Artefact - an enchanted dagger with the capability of rendering entire bloodlines infertile- means that you have breached said law?” 

The man blustered some more, and Albus ploughed on ahead. “So how do you plead?” 

Sparks blinked up at him, and Albus smiled, folding his hands and resting them on the podium before him. 

“Plead?” 

Albus hummed. “Yes, my boy. Do you admit that you have breached the law and accept that the lawful consequence is to accept whatever punishment this court deems fit?” 

Sparks made a noise, like a strangled animal of some sort. “I- _no!”_ He stood from his seat. “No! I do _not_ accept that! This trial is a farce! This entire Ministry is a farce! I have done _nothing wrong_ -” 

“Mr Sparks, you just admitted to breaking the law with full awareness of the consequences.” 

“I- yes but- no...what I mean is-” He stopped and made another garbled sound. “Those bastards raided my house- _me!_ Have they any idea of who I am? No warning, no _warrant-”_

_“_ A full and comprehensive list of properties was published in the first week of January detailing who was to expect a visit from Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Additionally, owls were sent to each person. Our records show you received your owl on the tenth of January and sent your acknowledgement- which we have here.” 

Albus opened the manila folder that had popped into existence in front of him before pulling out a piece of parchment. Smiling, he cleared his throat and read out “This parchment asked for you to check the box once you had completely read the accompanying information sheet on the recent Seizure of Dark Artefacts Bill. You checked and signed, Mr Sparks, the box which reads ‘ _I have read and fully understood the Seizure of Dark Artefacts Bill and all it entails. I consent to a_ _full manor/house/accommodations_ _check to be conducted by_ _Aurors_ _of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on any date between the 21s_ _t_ _of January 1993 and 21_ _st_ _of February 1993.’”_

Albus smiled again and looked up. Sparks’ face had gone beet red, and his mouth opened and shut several times but no sound escaped. After a moment of his (quite impressive, Albus thinks) impression of a fish, he found his tongue. 

“There was no warrant!” he shouted, hand held aloft, as if it were casting a Lumos. “Those barbarians barged into my home, snooped through my things! I wouldn’t be surprised if they planted that- that _thing_!” 

To his right, Amelia made a noise of protest, but Albus held up his hand to silence her. He turned his gaze back to the man. “Well, Mr Sparks, it is a very serious business to accuse an Auror of planting evidence. Why, if we can’t trust the agents trusted to exercise justice, who can we trust?” 

Sparks brightened at that, nodding his bald head repeatedly, which shone with sweat. 

Albus hummed. “Every Auror is expected to uphold the honourable tenets of the Ministry, and failure to present is a serious breach, not to mention planting evidence to falsely incriminate an innocent member of the public. This case could become much more serious. We’ll need to postpone in order to gain pensieve memories from both yourself and the Aurors who conducted the search on your home-” 

“ _What?”_

_“-_ as well as your own. Why, we’ll have to see who didn’t sign off on the sanction, who led the team of Aurors, who was in charge of their training-” 

“ _Wait-”_

_“-_ we take the issue of corruption very seriously, Mr Sparks.” There was a grave silence as the man stared wide-eyed up at him. Albus had long-since stopped smiling and regarded the cowardly man before him. “And in the event that the Aurors of Department of Magical Law Enforcement are found innocent of corruption, of planting evidence and failure to present a viable warrant, then I do believe the Ministry will sue _you_ , Mr Sparks. For defamation, for wasting of Ministry time and finances for the extensive investigation and for perverting the course of justice.” He paused. “Would you like to proceed?” 

Sparks had lost all his colour and was staring up at him with wide eyes. After a moment of silence, the man cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty hands on his robes. “I- well...ah-” 

“I’m sure that Mr Sparks has the utmost respect of all Honourable Wixen present’s time and will not further waste it by making baseless claims.” 

Albus would have jumped if he’d had less control of himself. As it was, he felt his eyes widen as he turned to the speaker. The man had a deep voice, rumbling and gravelly, as if not frequently used, but somehow still smooth. His hair was pitch black and he stared down his strong roman nose at Sparks with a set of piercing grey eyes that were as flat and cold as flint. 

Sparks looked confused for a moment before recognition dawned. “I-I- my...I-” 

“Dumbledore,” the man spoke again, and those grey eyes were turned on him. Albus smiled. The man didn’t return it. “I suggest we get to the sentencing. Imagine I am not the only person with things to do later today.” 

Albus looked to Sparks who was nodding frantically, and a glance at the rest of the court proved that the sentiment was echoed universally. He sighed. “Very well.” He motioned to the Aurors who escorted Sparks from the room while they made their judgement. 

The doors had scarcely swung shut before the room filled with chatter and noise. 

There were solutions and ideas being bandied about like a rather disorganised muggle game of tennis, and Albus was about to call for silence when the same man’s hand went up, and the room fell quiet instantly. 

“Let’s not dance around the solution for hours, shall we? This is not a question about the Bill itself, but rather of the fitting punishment for breaking the law.” 

“A law that is completely ridiculous!” cried Lord Parkinson. When the man turned to look at him, the younger Lord shrank in his seat. 

“There’s no use debating the Bill now,” drawled Lucius Malfoy, who was sat with his ankle atop the opposite knee. He played with his cane almost idly, but Albus was sure that the man’s cold blue eyes took everything in. “The Bill has been passed. What we need to determine is Sparks’ punishment.” 

At that, a fresh round of chatter broke out. 

“No question about it. Throw him in Azkaban.” 

“-ridiculous! He should only be warned” 

“-fine of fifty Galleons-” 

“-property seized-” 

For a second time, Albus opened his mouth to intervene but was, once again, beat to it by the same man, who had only to raise his voice slightly for the room to silence. “If we throw Sparks into Azkaban, then I’m sure your half-witted black market dealer of a cousin would be delighted to join him as a cellmate, Mr Fletcher.” 

Preston Fletcher, the proxy for the Marchbanks’ seats, flushed. The man nodded. “I believe a steep fine should suffice.” 

“Ten thousand Galleons!” 

“Outrageous! No more than one hundred!” 

“Are you daft? It should at the very least be-” 

“Enough!” Albus shouted, before another second could pass, and the man should beat him to it again. 

(He wasn’t sure, but Albus thought he saw the man’s lip twitch) 

“We must be reasonable. Ten thousand is too much, one hundred is not enough. What about somewhere halfway between the two?” 

There was silence for a moment, before someone scoffed. “What, five thousand?” 

Albus beamed. “I’m glad to see your arithmancy is as sharp as ever, Lord Pyrites.” 

Before the man could bite out a response, another voice spoke up. 

“That seems a sufficient amount,” said the curt voice of Augusta Longbottom. 

“Sufficient?!” squawked Parkinson in outrage. “That is a preposterous-” 

“We must take into consideration the item Sparks had!” another shouted. 

“Line theft!” screamed another, and the room rose once again in volume. “He could commit line theft with that thing!” 

“But then are we punishing him for having a Dark Artefact, or for the harm the Dark Artefact could do?” Everyone turned once more to the man, who simply rose a brow. “That is something we must decide now before we dole out punishment. I’m sure you all understand precedent.” 

Albus wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but every time the man spoke, there was a slightly condescending lilt to his words, as if he were mocking everyone. 

“Well, the reason Dark Artefacts are now illegal is because of the harm that they could do, so it is a combination of the two,” remarked a slightly puzzled Lady Beaufort. 

“Ah,” Albus smiled, and everyone’s eyes swung to him. “But there is more to it than that. Owning and using Dark Artefacts is immoral, but we cannot govern by that alone. We must think about the effect these things have on others. The closer one is and the more one uses Dark Artefacts, the more susceptible they are to the lure of the Dark Arts and Spellcasting.” He held up a hand when several Nobles opened their mouths to speak. “It may start out somewhat benign, or as benign as the Dark Arts gets, but over time inhibitions will wear, resistance will erode and a person who could hardly throw a mean glare could find themselves casting the Unforgivables. _That_ is the power of the Dark Arts, the power of its seduction and corruption.” 

The room sat in contemplative silence for several moments, an occurrence that hardly happens amongst adults, let alone in the Wizengamot. 

When nobody else spoke, Albus widened his smile. “Should we put it to a vote then?” There were some grumbles and shifting, but everyone seemed to agree. “Brilliant. All in favour of fining Mr Sparks the price of Five Thousand Galleons to be paid within the month, light a Lumos and raise your wand.” 

Albus watched whose wands came up first. Augusta, Elphias Doge, Tiberius Ogden and Griselda Marchbanks were the first ones whose lit wand-tips rose into the air, followed closely by Amelia Bones of the DMLE, Lady Smith, the Abbott and Lovegood proxies, Lord Boot and- to everyone’s surprise- the grey eyed man. 

There was a slight pause as everyone stared before a reluctant majority held their wands aloft. 

Albus beamed. “Wonderful. Aurors, if you will.” The two wizards nodded and went out to get Sparks, who was as pale as every and whose hands trembled. “Mr Sparks, you have been found guilty of possession of a Category 3 Dark Artefact. Your punishment as decided by this court of Honourable Wixen is the fine of Five Thousand Galleons, to be paid to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic. Do you have any questions?” 

Sparks was even paler now, but he shook his head. “Alright then. That is all. You will receive an owl detailing how payment should be made and any actions-on if you fail to make your payment within the agreed time limit. That is all, court adjourned.” He waved his wand and a loud bang rang through the room. 

People stood at once, some eager to get out, some milling around to discuss the proceedings. Albus hung back, smiling and chatting idly with a few. Elphias was first to congratulate him. “A brilliant speech!” the other man exclaimed happily. “There was no other solution. The man is a Dark Wizard if I ever saw one!” 

Elphias was one of Albus’ oldest and dearest friends, but he was seldom right. This was a victory for the Light not just because they’d managed to hold someone with Dark ideals accountable (though Sparks looked hardly able to cast a successful Stunning Charm let alone a Dark Spell); the real victory was stealing money from Voldemort’s hand before he could even close his fist. 

The War had only lasted as long as it had and done as much damage as was done because Voldemort had the support of the Old Families, the wealthiest wixen in all of Britain. They were open supporters of him, publically denouncing the Ministry in favour of their chosen Lord, and while such open terrorism should have made conviction easy, it wasn’t. 

The Biscus family alone- though pureblood, weren’t half as wealthy as the others due to generations living off their initial wealth- had proudly proclaimed themselves to be followers of Voldemort but evaded arrest because of the numerous properties they had littering not only Britain but the Continent as well. What hope did the Light have when fighting Dark forces if the shadows were intangible? 

There was more to his plans, but Albus didn’t dare think them surrounded as he was by political enemies. One could never be too cautious.

Albus chuckled. “I doubt that Mr Sparks is a Dark Wizard, Elphias. I doubt he even intended to use the cursed knife. I am sure now, however, that he will think twice before purchasing an item of its likeness.” 

From across the round room, Albus spotted a figure heading towards the doors. He placed a hand on Elphias’ shoulder. “Excuse me, old friend, but there is something I must do. We should meet for tea sometime.” He didn’t wait for a response, instead moving to intercept the other man. 

“Lord Black!” he called before the man could leave. Albus watched the grey-eyed man pause before turning to him. “I am surprised by the stance you took on today’s issue.” 

“I can’t imagine why.” 

“Well,” Albus chuckled, “one can hardly ignore your family’s reputation.” 

Black’s face didn’t so much as twitch. “Indeed,” he drawled in his deep, gravelly voice. “And if I were to judge you by yours, I’d expect you to be occupying a cell in Azkaban or running a failing inn. Yet here we are.” 

Albus felt his smile freeze on his face, but forced himself to nod and keep up the jovial façade. “Indeed, my boy, indeed. In any case, welcome back, Lord Black.” 

The man’s bright gaze pinned him. Then, his lips tipped up in a grin Albus had seen on a few of the man’s relatives. 

“Thank you, Dumbledore, but I never left.” 

* * *

Albus sighed as his fireplace roared to life, orange flames turning a bright green. 

Minerva had left not ten minutes ago with a thorough report of the castle’s goings-on in his absence. Ordinarily, he was happy to let her take the reigns when he had Wizengamot meetings to preside over, but with the recent troubles concerning the Chamber, it was important that he was apprised of everything. Lucius Malfoy had been suspiciously quiet during that last session, and Albus knew that the blond Lord had something nefarious brewing. 

Still, it was exhausting. The decision to cancel Quidditch meant that there were dozens _more_ bored teenagers within the castle walls, which meant that the Prefects and Staff had to be working twice as hard to keep the peace. 

When Minerva had left, called away by one of her many monitoring charms, Albus had been intent on enjoying a slice of lemon cake that Molly had sent (a ploy to persuade him to let her into the castle to check on Ginerva) but evidently that would have to be postponed. 

“Albus!” a stern voice called, and the old man sighed and set his fork down. Fawkes trilled from where he sat on his perch absorbing the dying rays of the sun. 

“Indeed, old friend,” he murmured in agreement. 

“Albus! I know you’re there!” 

Another heavy sigh before the old man ambled his way over to the fireplace, casting an absent cushioning charm as he knelt before the flames. “Andromeda,” he smiled. “How can I help you?” 

His ex-student was scowling at him through the flames. “You can _help_ ,” she hissed “by explaining why you never revealed that Hadrian has living family on the continent.” 

Albus feels his smile slip slightly, his brows furrowing just a tad, but it's enough for the witch to narrow her own pale eyes and say, “You didn’t know.” He doesn’t respond. If that is the conclusion she wants to draw, then he will not dissuade her of it. 

“Move aside, I’m coming through,” Andromeda says again, and Albus has just enough time to struggle to his feet (no easy accomplishment considering he’s seen more than a century of life) and step aside before the fire flares and the woman steps out. 

“Lemon drop?” he offers customarily, smiling as the witch wrinkles her nose slightly. Nobody apart from the children seem to appreciate the offer; perhaps he should go down into the school tomorrow during lunch. He’s heard that the second-years had been meeting in a communal room, and it made Albus smile to know that there was an attempt at House unity even during these trying times. 

“Albus,” Andromeda says, and he turns his attention back to the matter at hand. “This is serious. By all rights, the Potiers should have gotten custody of Hadrian when his parents died. If they filed for it now, neither Narcissa nor I could pose as eligible alternatives. Especially if Hadrian also wants to go.” 

Albus hummed and sat back in his chair, absently unwrapping the sweet. “Potier, you say?” he muses aloud. “I must say, I’ve never heard of them. How did you?” 

Andromeda watched him with narrowed eyes before seating herself in the chair in front of his desk. 

“I was making a house call and the person mentioned it. Certain circles are rife with talk of them, which makes me wonder how you didn’t know. Don’t you have your very own Dark Defect?” 

“No need for name-calling, dear,” he chided automatically but absently. He wasn’t all too bothered by her dislike for Severus- of course, he’d prefer it if they could all get along, united as they were against the Dark, but he understood where that dislike stemmed from. Andromeda had suffered at the hands of the Dark before being cast out, and Severus had willingly embraced them and all they stood for, no matter how briefly nor that he’d come over to the Light before the war had ended. It didn’t make it any better that it was incredibly hard to trust a spy. 

No, Albus wasn’t concerned with petty rivalries and barbed words. What had his attention was what Andromeda had said about who she’d heard talking about the Potiers. It was a well-known fact that Healers were bound by ancient, sacred oaths that protected the information and sometimes identity of their patients. There were numerous accounts of legilimens being put into decades-long magical comas for trying to read a Healer’s mind. 

That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t tell when he was being lied to. Albus was one of the greatest Master Legilimens in the world, and something that the dark-haired witch said had rang as untrue. 

Still, he wouldn’t risk it. Whatever secret Andromeda was keeping would come to light sooner or later; secrets had a tendency to do that (as much as he sometimes loathed it). 

Albus offered her a small smile, like the ones he gave the Weasley twins after they’d been caught mid-prank. “I’m sure you are aware of the damage feeding into baseless rumours can do. Is there any proof?” 

The witch jerked her head in a nod before reaching into the folds of her robes and withdrawing a roll of parchment. He took it and undid the silky red ribbon, unrolling the parchment and taking in the inky lines and calligraphic names. 

Though he furrowed his brows and feigned interest, this wasn’t the first time Albus had seen the Potter family tree. 

It had been a shock the first time he’d felt the powerful magic the young Potter heir carried with him. Albus had known Charlus Potter and Dorea Black, and while both formidable wizards in their own rights, it didn’t justify the power that rolled off their child. It was only a short while later- two months into James’ time at Hogwarts when he and Sirius Black decided to try and find the other common rooms- that Albus managed to figure out the reason for the young boy’s aura. 

Immediately, Albus had ensured to do extensive research into the family. It was common knowledge that with Iolanthe’s marriage to Hardwin Potter, the Peverell and Potter lines had merged, and further research showed that though they’d gotten a significant amount of wealth from the Old Family, nothing besides the Cloak was passed down through the Potter line. 

Less interesting, but nonetheless important, was the fact that Edwin Potter (Hadrian’s great-great-grandfather) had a brother, Adrian, who married Elladora Black, the sister to Phineas-Nigellus Black. At the time, Albus hadn’t thought to look into who’d married Adrian, as fixated as he was on the Peverell's and the Hallows. 

He glanced up at the smirking portrait of the former Headmaster. The man’s pale grey eyes, eerily similar to the cool ones of his descendant sat across from Albus, twinkled and his lips were pulled into a sharp grin. Albus narrowed his eyes at the portrait, but the other man simply winked before walking out of his frame. 

He turned his attention back to the parchment. 

It had been Hardwin- Adrian's grandson- who’d gone on to change their name from Potter to Potier before going on to marry Cecelia Malfoy and having two children, Henry and Lyra who. 

“James never mentioned having family on the continent,” he said simply, which was true enough. 

Andromeda made a noise that- coming from anybody else- may have been a snort. “What, and put more family in danger? We all know that _he_ was picking the opposition off one by one. Anyone even rumoured to associate with members of the Order were targets, as you well know, Albus.” 

Albus sighed, leaning back in his seat and considering his options before smiling. He rolled the parchment and carefully retied the ribbon. “Do you mind terribly if I hold on to this, my dear? I’m afraid this old man’s memory fails him sometimes.” Which was complete hodgepodge, but neither of them were going to point _that_ out. 

Andromeda doesn’t smile when she nods, and her eyes narrow slightly before she squares her shoulders. He knows what she’s going to ask, knows how the response he will give (the same one he has for the past eleven years) but dreads it all the same. Never has he wished for the Weasley twins to set off some terribly disruptive concoction that requires his immediate attention more. 

“Have you given any more thought to what we spoke about? Before?” 

Albus sighs and shakes his head, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. His glasses have slipped down his nose, so he has to duck his chin to see through them. “You know the answer to that as well as I do, my dear. I’m afraid it just can’t happen.” 

She bristles, and while there’s no outward sign of her anger, he can sense it all the same. 

“But Albus- it's important we find out _why_. He was their best friend. He’d _suffered_ at the hands of the Dark- far worse than I ever have, and I’d never imagine going over. We must be missing something-” 

He held up a hand and instantly she fell silent. Albus closed his eyes for a moment, taking a moment to shore up his Gryffindor courage which- come to think of it, is only required when dealing with witches (Minerva, Andromeda, Poppy, Pomona...the list goes on). When he reopens his eyes, he knows that they don’t hold the usual twinkle, that they’re rather solemn and hard, a look he hasn’t donned for over a decade. 

“I admire your loyalty, Andromeda, and I understand how close you and he were, but there is no question of Sirius’ guilt. If we arrange for him to get a trial now, when the Dark still hold a significant portion of Wizengamot votes, and the neutral factions are being affected by the latest Dark Artefacts Bill, he will walk. For Hadrian’s sake, we cannot risk it.” 

The woman’s jaw is clenched and her eyes are cold, like flint, steely. She regards him for a moment before jerking her head into a nod. “Very well,” she says, and her voice is flat, not unlike the purebloods who greet him from between clenched teeth. “You can keep the tree. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to show it to Hadrian before it’s printed in the Daily Prophet. Good day, Headmaster.” 

She doesn’t wait for a response as she gracefully rises from her seat and strides over to his fireplace, taking a pinch of Floo powder, throwing it down, and disappearing in a flurry of green flames. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Hadrian stifled a sigh. 

Binns was groaning on again about another goblin rebellion he’d stopped listening to the moment he’d sat down. Beside him, Draco was studiously taking notes. Hadrian considered trying to pester the boy again but decided against it- it would only make the blond’s smug smile grow wider. 

That morning at breakfast, Draco had received a letter from his father concerning the Chamber but he’d refused to say what Lucius had spoken about. “I suppose you’ll all have to stew in anticipation until this evening,” he’d sniffed before putting the letter away. 

Hadrian had tried to needle some more information out of him, but then Zilia had swooped down with a warning screech before landing right beside his plate in a flurry of black feathers. She carried with her a brown parcel but when he went to open it, she bit at his fingers and stuck her other leg out. Grumbling, he’d untied the letter and read it through. 

_Hadrian, I’ve given Zilia instructions to make sure that you read this first. Don't open the parcel in the Great Hall. Wait until you’re alone, but if that is not possible, then do so in your dorms. You will find an explanation when you do._   
_-Andromeda_

He frowned, casting a look at the parcel but deciding to heed her words. Whatever it was, he doubted it would be dangerous, but he still cast the customary detection charms Snape had taught them in their first few weeks in Slytherin last year. 

It would be hard to find some time to himself, though. Ever since Theo and Draco had come to some kind of accord- evident only because Theo spent most of his time pointedly ignoring Draco, while the blond had cut down the tone of his sneers by half- the two hadn’t left his side. If he wasn’t in class, then they were towing him to the communal room or forcing him to play gobstones outside in the Quad. The only moment of privacy he had anymore was at nights in bed, and those were dedicated largely to writing to Riddle. 

Maybe he’d have to use that. He could open the parcel before writing in the diary and, depending on how interesting whatever the parcel was, could write to Riddle about it. For a diary, he was surprisingly knowledgeable. And cunning, though that was only to be expected of a Slytherin. 

A few says ago, while Draco took his sweet time in the bathroom styling his hair or some such nonsense, he’d had a very frustrating conversation with Riddle. 

**_You still haven’t told me_ **

_There is a lot I haven’t told you, Rian. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific_

**_What did you get that award for?_ **

_Hmm. You know my price._

Hadrian scowled. **_I’ll tell you how I earned mine if you tell me how you earned yours._ **

_You have one as well?_

**_Of course_ ** **_I do._ **

_Hmm. I suppose Professor Dippet is quite fond of students wearing their uniform correctly._

**_I didn’t get it from_** ** _Dippet_** ** _, thank you. I’m pretty sure he’s been dead for a good long while. Dumbledore is Headmaster now. Aren’t you delighted?_ **

_Positively beaming._ Hadrian snorted. _I suppose that trade isn’t too bad. Go ahead._

**_You_** ** _first._ **

_Oh, I don’t think so. My reason is linked to the Chamber, and I am aware of how desperately you’d like to know about_ that. 

Hadrian had scowled at that, closing the book instead of responding. He wasn’t _desperate_ , but it was getting rather annoying having everyone hating him for something he didn’t do. At least at the orphanage, the fear was warranted. These students hadn’t seen _half_ of what he was capable of. Perhaps he ought to take Lockhart up on his offer. 

“...which leads to the rebellion of 1752.” 

He didn’t bother to mask his sigh this time, and Draco slanted an amused glance at him. “Maybe if you paid attention, it wouldn’t be so boring.” 

Hadrian made a face. “Goblins will _always_ be boring.” 

Draco snorted. “Hardly. It is the mistake of many wixen to overlook them but history tells us that doing so is exactly the problem-” 

“Mr Malfoy!” They both looked up. “Since you seem to be so focussed this lesson, who was the Minister under this rebellion?” 

Across the room, Granger’s hand shot up, waving about in the air. Binns ignored it. Draco smirked. “There were three, Professor. The first was Alber Boot, the second was Basil Flack who resigned once the goblins aligned with the werewolves and handed over to Hesphaestus Gore.” 

Hadrian watched the ghost, who blinked at Draco before nodding and continuing his lecture. Binns never called on anyone during class. In fact, many were of the opinion that he largely forgot that he even _had_ a class to call on. Maybe he’d heard Draco mutter after class last week that he’d get his father to exorcise him. 

The rest of class passed in its usual monotonous way. Blaise had flicked a stinging charm at a drooling Weasley, who’d jumped awake with a startled yelp. The other Gryffindors could hardly stifle their laughter, let alone the Slytherins. 

By the time they reached the dungeons, Draco had re-enacted Weasley’s babbling confusion at least five times. 

“Alright, now _spill_ ,” Tracey demanded as they settled themselves in the common room. Most of the upper years had late lessons and the others tended to hang out in the Quad with their friends from other Houses before coming back to the common room, so they had it to themselves for the time being. 

Draco smiled before rooting around in his bag for a moment and flourishing the letter. Blaise indulged him, _oohing_ and _aahing_ , and a giggling Millicent joined in. Crabbe and Goyle started a drumroll which had Tracey smiling and shaking her head. Even Theo, working hard to keep up his mask of disdain regarding all things Draco couldn’t hide how his lips twitched. 

“Behold!” Draco shouted, and all sounds stopped. “The golden letter of the Malfoys, heralding tales of old-” 

“Alright, princess, get on with it,” Theo grumbled, huffing as he folded his arms over his chest. Draco paused, glaring briefly at him before sniffing and continuing. 

“ _Well_. Father says that the Chamber was opened, though not during his time here.” 

“When was it opened then?” Tracey asked. 

“Fifty years ago.” 

“That would be 1943,” Millicent said. Hadrian frowned. Something about that year was familiar to him, but he wasn’t sure what. He knew that at the time, the muggles would have been dealing with the Second World War and he’d read a little about Grindelwald’s reign of global terror at the same time, but Dumbledore had defeated him two years later in 1945. 

“What happened then?” he asked, glancing up at Draco with furrowed brows. “How did they deal with it then?” 

Draco smirked. “Get this, not only were there petrifications but someone _died_ before they could catch the culprit, which they eventually did and they were expelled. I bet they’re still rotting in Azkaban.” 

“ _Died!?”_ Millicent gasped, eyes wide. Even Theo and Blaise were gaping at the blond. Hadrian was still frowning. Something about the story struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t remember _what_. “How did they die?” 

At that, Draco shrugged. “Father didn’t say, but chances are that it was a mud- _ahem-_ muggleborn and the Heir’s beast ate them.” 

Theo scoffed. “They couldn’t have been _eaten_ because they haven’t caught the beast so they don’t know for sure and the person would be down at missing, not dead.” He rolled his eyes, and Hadrian saw Draco’s face tinge pink. Luckily, Blaise butted in before another argument could start. 

“Anyway,” the Italian boy exclaimed, before turning grey-green eyes on Hadrian. “I thought you said you’d be getting some more info for us, Hadrian How’d you let _Draco_ beat you to it?” 

Draco spluttered wordlessly for a moment and everyone laughed. Hadrian smiled. “Be fair, Blaise. Draco’s pretty useful when he wants to be.” He shot the blond a smile, and Draco’s cheeks turned a deeper pink. 

(Theo made another scoffing sound, but Hadrian ignored it for the time being) 

“Besides,” he continued, “I’m still working my source. They're proving...more difficult than I anticipated.” 

“Source?” Tracey parroted, raising a brow. “And who is this source?” 

Hadrian grinned. “Now that would be telling.” 

That night, after several hours of watching Sally-Anne and Colin try and explain how go-fish worked (ended when Sally-Anne exclaimed that it was like teaching piglets to fly and- really what was her obsession with those things?) Hadrian lay in his bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. 

It was going to be another one of those nights. 

His mind wouldn’t stop going over what Draco’s letter had said, and the same things kept playing on a loop in his mind; 1943, expelled and a vague memory of a moving picture which he couldn’t quite remember. 

He laid there for almost three hours before giving up entirely on sleep and slipping out of bed. He wouldn’t fall asleep with this bugging him, so it was best he get it out of the way now before it snowballed into a bigger problem. Silently and careful not to wake the others, he stepped into his shoes, scooping his bookbag up and throwing his father’s cloak over him before going down into the common room. 

Usually, Kama and his court were up until at least 2AM, but they seemed to have turned in for an early night. Quickly, he made his way out of the common room and, utilising some of the secret corridors he’d discovered during the Yule break last year, made short work of getting to the library. 

Once there, he stalled for a moment. Something told him that he needed to be there, that he’d find the answers he needed, but he wasn’t sure why or where to start. The last time he’d been here alone was when he’d been trying to find out if Sally-Anne came from a Wizarding family. He'd gone through the yearbooks and- _the yearbooks_. 

Before long, Hadrian was flicking through the 1943 yearbook with a conjured circle of Bluebell Flames hovering nearby. 

_There._

In black-and-white, the boy with a mass of wild, curly hair and wet cheeks, turning his face from the camera. _Rubeus Hagrid; expelled in June 1943._

Hadrian blinked and tried to wrap his mind around it. _Hagrid_ as the Heir? He couldn’t think of a more ill-fitting culprit if he tried. How had anyone- how had _Dumbledore_ \- believed that Hagrid of all people could be controlling Slytherin’s monster? True, the man did have an uncanny obsession with man-eating beasts, but Sally-Anne had mentioned that the man cried when he found his roosters killed by rogue foxes. How could he kill a person? 

Hadrian kept flicking through the yearbook, pausing on the page of accolades, staring at Riddle’s handsome face and charming smile as he shook Dippet’s hand as he accepted the award. He wandered again what he’d won it for. What was it he’d said the other day? _My reason is linked to the Chamber_. 

Oh. _Oh._ Riddle won an award in the same year that the Chamber was opened, the same year that a student died and Hagrid was expelled. 

A startled laugh broke free, which just so happened to be the same time that Filch strolled by. Cursing, he doused the flames and tucked the yearbook into his bag before throwing the cloak on, just as the doors to the library opened. 

“When I catch you,” the squib growled, one eye twitching uncontrollably, “I’ll hang you by your thumbs and feed your toes to piranhas.” 

Hadrian rolled his eyes, flicking his wands and causing books on the other side of the room to tumble from the shelf. The man predictably leapt in that direction and Hadrian slipped out unnoticed. 

It didn’t take him long to get back to the Slytherin common room, shrugging the cloak off as the entrance closed itself behind him and stuffing it in his bag before freezing. 

Theo was sat in their usual spot, draped in a thick robe and house slippers. Hadrian frowned. “Theo,” he started, walking over to the other boy. “What are you doing up?” 

"I was waiting.” 

“Waiting?” 

Theo hummed, nodding. “Yes. Figured you’d be at least another hour or so. Did you have to run from a Professor or Prefect?” 

“It was Filch.” 

Theo hummed again but said nothing. Hadrian sat opposite him, and they sat together in silence for a while. “What are you still doing up?” he asked after a while. 

“Because you are.” 

Hadrian frowned again. “But how did you know?” 

A small smile rose to Theo’s lips. “Monitoring Charm on the sofa. You always bump into it when you leave the room.” Hadrian shot him a scowl, before the look deepened into a glare. 

“Why?” 

Theo shrugged again. “I wanted to know when you left.” 

“Why?” 

“Just in case.” 

Hadrian scowled again. “Just in case of what? I’m not a child, Theodore. I don’t need you hovering. You're not my mother.” 

Theo's brows tugged down into a scowl. "Because you’re my friend!” he hissed. “You’re my friend, and this is what friends do when they’re worried for the person they care about!” 

Hadrian laughed bitterly, standing up. “Please,” he scoffed. “You don’t have to worry about me losing House points or ruining the Nott name by proxy any more than it already is.” 

“You _idiot!_ Do you think any of that _matters_ -” 

“What’s going on?” 

They both whipped around to find Draco stood by the stairs leading up to the dorms, his hair all fluffy and mussed. He took a step closer to them. 

Hadrian took a deep breath in, straightening and refusing to look over at where Theo was stood. “Everything’s fine.” 

Draco frowned. “I heard shouting-” 

“I said everything is _fine_ , Draco. Go back to bed.” 

The blond blinked at him for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. “Right, I guess I wasn’t clear enough the first time. I heard everything you guys said and- I never thought I’d say this but Theodore is right.” He walked over so that he was closer to where Hadrian and Theo stood. “We’re _both_ worried about you.” 

“I don’t need it!” Hadrian shouted back. The darkness was churning in his chest and- ever since his outburst in Snape’s office a week ago- his control was shoddy at best. “I’ve never needed anyone’s _worry_ before so I sure as hell don’t need it now!” 

None of them spoke for a moment, and Hadrian spent the time trying to rein his anger in. He could feel the darkness simmering, boiling and bubbling and searching for the nearest crack in his defences. His lungs felt heavy and his head was pounding and- 

A hand settled on his shoulder and he looked up. Theo was standing right there, with earnest, honey-hazel eyes. “You’ve never _had_ someone to worry over you before, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.” 

Hadrian made a noise he wasn’t all too sure how to label. “And what use is worrying to you?” 

Theo shrugged, and a corner of his mouth ticked up in a rueful smile. “That’s for us to worry about.” 

“Besides,” chimed in Draco, coming over to bump his shoulder against Hadrian’s. “You’d save yourself a lot of time and energy if you just let us know what’s going on. Ever heard of two- or three in this case- heads are better than one?” 

Theo snorted at that, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, except you only count as half, Malfoy.” 

Hadrian laughed as he watched the blond go to shove him, only to stumble and nearly kiss the floor. Theo caught him, though, and set him back on his feet. 

“Fine,” he conceded, shoulders drooping as he exhaled. He looked up at the other two boys. “I’ll...fill you in if you need to know-” 

“Hadrian...” 

“-as and when you need to know-” 

Theo and Draco both glared at him. He sighed. 

“Fine. As and when I find out things.” They smiled. He scowled. “But I reserve the right to withhold information if it will put either of you or anyone I think is important in danger.” 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Is this the best we’ll get out of you?” Hadrian nodded. Theo chuckled. 

“The better question is, who do you think is important?” 

At that, Hadrian just grinned. 

With that sorted, the three of them made their way up to the dorms, where Draco grumbled something about having panda eyes in the morning and Theo threw up a Tempus to show the time to be 2:30AM. 

Theo warned him not to go wandering off again, to which he swore not to unless there was no other option, before the tawny-haired boy turned in for the night. 

Hadrian knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep, so he settled down on the sofa in their room, and pulled out the diary. 

For the first time since he’d first written in it, Hadrian felt like he had the upper hand. Riddle was suave and smooth in ways that should have been impossible for anyone bodiless. He'd felt the darkness that seeped from the book the moment Myrtle had shown it to him all those months ago, and while it had been difficult at first to resist the strange impulses he’d had at first, it got easier over time. 

(Sometimes, as they wrote back and forth at all silly hours of the morning or night, Hadrian swore he could feel flashes of emotions that weren’t strictly his, but often put it down to sleep deprivation) 

The boy was just so fascinating. Hadrian wanted to know how it worked. Was it like the pensieve’s he’d read about, a person’s stored memories that, instead of playing out like a muggle television manifested over time? Or maybe it was a real person who had a book that received everything Hadrian wrote. Would that be possible? Was the real Tom Riddle somewhere in the world keeping odd hours and writing to a schoolboy through an enchanted diary? He'd be...what, sixty? Hadrian could learn so much from him. Maybe he ought to reach out. Maybe he can find things out that nobody here could teach him. 

(Like why Alohomora _still_ didn’t work for him, but he was pushing that thought away for now) 

For now, though, he had to settle for getting Riddle’s explanation on the Chamber. He knew that Hagrid must have taken the fall once that student died, but he didn’t understand how Riddle fit into that, nor how the Chamber had opened again fifty years later. 

**_I know more about the Chamber_ **

_Oh, do you?_

**_Yes_ **

There was a pause, like Riddle was waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t 

_And what do you think you know?_

**_I know about Hagrid. That he was expelled because people must have thought that he’d brought a beast in that killed a student._ **

_My, you know an awful lot then, don’t you?_

He could practically hear the condescension, and he glared down at the words until they disappeared. 

**_You said you’d show me_ **

_You were supposed to tell me how you earned yours first_

**_You don’t have the same leverage,_** Hadrian wrote back, smirking slightly ** _. I don’t need you to tell me. I already have what I need. I’m guessing that your only involvement in this whole Heir business is that you caught him. How nice._ **

Hadrian watched his words sink into the paper, until it was blank and blemish-free once more. There was a spark of something....amusement?...and then words appeared on the page. 

_If only you knew,_ Riddle wrote back, but Hadrian didn’t have much time to puzzle over them before new words came up. _Hold tight._

Then the world spun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, do you see that? We're _finally_ picking up the pace here and oh boy are things going to get interesting.  
> What did you guys think? Let me know in the comments!  
> Edit: do you guys have any fic recommendations? I can't find any new good ones


	25. Monsters in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short but meh.

_What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.  
― Werner Herzog_

Theo considered himself a morning person. Whenever he stayed with family overseas, his cousins found pleasure in waking him with stinging hexes or icy sprays of water, so he’d learnt to get up before them and avoid the inevitable heart attack. 

It was something he’d found useful when he came to Hogwarts. Breakfast started at seven-thirty and ended at nine when classes started, but he was always awake by six, or six-thirty if he’d been up speaking with Hadrian the night before. 

But despite his affinity for early starts, what he isn’t used to is waking to bottle-green eyes and wild black hair and hands that fluttered through the air. 

The sound Theo let out was absolutely undignified as he scrambled to sit up. “Hadrian?” he asked incredulously. 

The dark-haired boy was staring at him as if _he_ was the one who was insane. “Theodore,” he replied. 

Theo blinked a few times. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m talking to you.” 

“...while I was asleep?” 

Hadrian threw him a puzzled look. "Why would I talk to you while you were asleep?” Theo didn’t say anything, and Hadrian threw him another weird look before shrugging. “It’s ridiculous. Anyway, we need to find out who it was, and Boot’s got that cousin who works in the Archives department in the Ministry. Be sure to compliment him during Charms this morning.” 

Theo didn’t know what to think for a moment. He didn’t really want to tell Hadrian that he didn’t understand a word of what he’d just said, foggy as his mind still was with sleep, but he didn’t know how to respond either. 

“ _Theo.”_ Hadrian was frowning, and his eyes flicked down to where he was grasping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. Theo blushed and let the bundled fabric go, attempting futilely to smooth it out before giving up. “What’s wrong with you? You haven’t said anything.” 

“Ian, I was _sleeping_.” 

Hadrian gave a small jolt, as if he’d been hit, and stared at him with wide eyes. “So you didn’t hear anything?” Theo shook his head. “ _Nothing_?” 

Well, he _did_ have a rather strange dream about giants, so maybe it was something Hadrian had mentioned? “Giants...?” he tried weakly, but Hadrian simply glared and huffed. “Oh come on, you can’t expect me to know what you’ve said when I've been asleep.” 

“I _woke_ you.” 

“Did you?” 

Hadrian blinked at him, shifting so that he was sat better on the bed. “Well. I called your name a few times and then you said something- I'm not sure what- and I assumed you’d woken up and was listening to me. I said a lot of important things.” 

Theo couldn’t stifle the laughed that bubbled out of him. “So you heard me talk in my sleep and assumed it was permission to lecture me?” Hadrian pouted, and Theo started laughing so hard his sides hurt. 

“I do it to Sally-Anne all the time and _she_ wakes up!” the dark-haired boy protested, which only prompted Theo to laugh harder. 

“Poor girl,” he gasped out, right before Hadrian smacked a pillow in his face. 

“Well now I’ve got to tell you everything all over again!” Hadrian groused, huffing as he flopped onto the bed beside him. Theo rolled his eyes and turned to face his friend. 

“Alright, what was so important that you had to wake me at-” he flicked up a Tempus and nearly choked “-five o’clock in the bloody morning!” 

At that, Hadrian sat up, and a smile stretched across his face. Theo found it impossible to stay mad. “I know who it was.” 

“Who what was?” 

They both looked over to see Malfoy stood at the foot of his bed. Theo would have felt more annoyed than he did, but Malfoy’s hair was all puffed up and he was squinting and- the usually refined pureblood looked more like a stumbling duckling and replaced any annoyance with amusement. 

Hadrian waved the blond over. “You’re up, good. Now I won’t have to repeat myself.” He glanced at Theo. “Again.” 

Theo just rolled his eyes. 

“What are we talking about here?” Malfoy asked, perching tentatively at the foot of Theo’s bed, and while a part of him enjoyed seeing the other boy unsure and unnerved, Theo’s manners won out in the end. He pulled his legs under him so he was sitting up and cross-legged before indicating for the blond to sit properly. 

(He told himself that it was purely because Hadrian was sure to blame him if Malfoy tumbled to the floor) 

“The Chamber,” Hadrian responded, before leaning in, and his eyes were sparkling. “Your father said whoever was blamed for opening the Chamber in 1943 was expelled after a student died, so I did some research. That’s where I was last night. Look.” 

Hadrian held out an expectant hand and, a moment later, a book flew into it. Theo shared a look with Malfoy. 

“Here,” Hadrian said, flicking through the pages before turning and showing them a photograph. Theo had to squint to properly make out who it was before giving up and reading the caption below. 

“Hagrid!” he choked. How could _Hagrid_ be Slytherin’s Heir? He was a half-breed giant, for Merlin’s sake! 

“That’s what I thought,” Hadrian said, nodding. “The man’s about as Slytherin as Weasley.” 

“Which one?” Malfoy grumbled, and Theo had to hold back a snort at that. The Twins had tricked the blond into trying a potion-laced sweet which had made him bark like a crup for ten minutes straight. 

“Not the Twins. The point is, Hagrid doesn’t like hearing about different uses for pixie wings. He couldn’t have _killed_ anyone.” 

“Not to mention that he couldn’t possibly be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. He can’t be the Heir,” added Malfoy, to which Hadrian just shrugged. 

“We can ask him this weekend.” 

Theo frowned. “That’s days away. Why not just go today?” 

“We’ve got Astronomy tonight. Besides, too many people will ask questions. Nobody questions where students are on the weekends.” 

Just then, an alarm rang, and all three of them jumped. From the bed across, Blaise grumbled a vague threat about hexing their hair off. Theo sighed. “Alright then. We go to Hagrid on Saturday. What’s the plan for today?” 

“Plan?” parroted Malfoy. “Why would we have a plan?” 

“Hadrian always has a plan.” 

The boy in question grinned. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_~~

Ginny stifled a sigh and forced her gaze off the dark-haired boy and back to the game of chess she was playing with Tracey. Beside her, Malfoy was flicking through a jewellery catalogue she’d seen Hadrian hand him with the vague instruction to ‘find something’. She’d not been sure how to feel about the blond at first, especially after witnessing the animosity between his father and hers, but he’d not done more than sneer mildly in her direction, so it wasn’t too bad. 

The catalogue he was looking through was interesting, though. Cattermole Crystals were devastatingly beautiful and notoriously expensive, and while Ginny couldn’t see Hadrian having a problem with splurging on himself, the boy didn’t even wear the Hogwarts broach let alone half the flashy things in the catalogue. Besides, discounting s few interested glances, Malfoy had ignored all the men’s jewellery and focussed instead on the more delicate women's pieces. 

The thought of Hadrian giving such a beautiful gift to some other girl made something ugly coil in her stomach, so she turned forcefully away. 

On the other side of the room, Theo was going over the Levitation Charm with Colin, but from the looks of it, her classmate had finally grasped it. Hadrian’s bag was floating in the air, dipping slightly but more-or-less stable. It was a nice bag, too, all polished leather and gleaming buckles. It reminded her a lot of its owner, and Ginny wondered whether it was possible for objects to take on the personality of their owners. She'd had her hands smacked by her mother’s spoons enough to now they were just as temperamental as the older redhead. 

“That’s brilliant, Colin. Now let’s get it over-” 

The rest of Theo’s words were drowned out by a deafening crash followed swiftly by a cacophony of noise that could only mean one thing. 

Ginny groaned silently as she watched the room descend into chaos. 

Red, green and orange sparks fill the room alongside a thousand pops and cracks, as if an entire army had decided to Apparate straight into the room. Malloy screamed, Colin and Jake (who’d been working on a Herbology essay) squeaked, and Crabbe and Goyle, who’d been dozing by the fireplace, made the best impression of an erumpet that Ginny had ever heard while Tracey and Theo ducked behind various pieces of furniture. 

It took longer than usual for the noise to die down, and Ginny could just picture how angry their mum will get that summer when this new brand of anarchy is brought home. She watched as her brothers made their entrance, laughing uproarously as they clutched one another in a bid to keep upright. 

“Did you see their face, Gred?” 

“Did you hear their _sounds_ , Forge?” 

“ _Bloody brilliant!”_

“Shouldn’t you be scrubbing cauldrons with a toothbrush?” Malfoy grumbled, straightening from the foetal position he’d curled himself into as the other crawled out of where they’d hidden. 

“Ha!” laughed Fred, throwing himself down onto the couch, while George grinned and ruffled the blond’s hair. “Snape had us cleaning flobberworm mucus instead.” 

“It was alright though,” his twin chimed in, “because we managed to get some for ourselves to use. Gonna test it out next week in Minnie’s class.” 

The look on everyone’s face would be funny if she didn’t also echo the sentiment. There were two teachers that nobody dared to mess with- Snape and McGonagall- but it seemed that the twins had no problems messing with them both. 

“That was awesome!” Colin shouted, clambering up from where he’d dropped to the floor. He had a large grin on his face and dust all over his robes. 

“How do you guys _do_ that? And you never get in trouble!” added Jake. 

“You got that detention on purpose, didn’t you?” asked Tracey contemplatively, her cat-like eyes narrowed on the twins. “You knew that Snape would give you that punishment.” 

George laughed. “Kinda predictable, old Snape is.” 

Fred nodded. “Yeah. It was either that or cleaning out the jars that had the newt spleens. That's what we really wanted, after seeing how we used them for the ageing potion the other day, but the mucus is just as good.” 

“How did you _not_ get into Slytherin?” Theo asked with something like exasperation. 

Fred tossed a hex at him. “We could never be one of you slimy Slytherins!” he declared. “Perish the thought!” 

“Never mind that,” Tracey said, waving her hand in the air. “Tell me about how you were going to use the spleen. And the mucus. What are you planning on making?” 

Their conversation quickly devolved into a whole lot of potions jargon that went completely over Ginny’s head. Their game was clearly abandoned, so she looked around for something else to do before spotting Hadrian’s fallen bag and the books spilling out of it. 

“I’ll help you with that,” she offered the boy, fruitlessly fighting off the blush that stole up her cheeks. 

Hadrian smiled at her. “Thanks. How are you? I know the start of the year was a bit rocky.” 

Ginny blushed some more, ducking her head and busying her hands by neatly stacking books and parchment. “Oh, I’m fine,” she stuttered out. “I just had a lot on my mind.” _Or nothing at all_ , a snide voice remarked, but she quickly quieted it. It didn’t matter that she had blank spots in her memory from a few months ago. Whatever it was, whatever had happened, had gone away and stopped happening. She was fine. 

“I get it,” Hadrian said as he twitched his fingers to clean up spilt ink. Ginny was in almost too much awe watching his casually display of magical mastery to hear what else he said. “It can be a lot, sometimes. I'll be more than happy to listen, though.” 

Ginny sucked in a breath. “To me? Why?” 

Hadrian offered her another smile. “Why not? Besides, if not me, then who? Draco would join in the moaning with you, Theo would give you a lecture, and- no offence- but none of your brothers that I’ve met seem like the... _advisor_ type.” 

“What about Tracey?” Hadrian paused, looking up into her eyes before they both burst into laughter. 

Malfoy walked over, then, tossing a slight scowl at her before calling for Hadrian. While the two spoke, heads bent over the catalogue, Ginny continued tidying up before freezing. 

There was a book amongst Hadrian’s things, painfully familiar. _No_ , her mind screamed at her, and she reached out a trembling hand. _I got rid of it. I threw it away. How...?_

When she brushed her hand over the cover, she felt the same jolt she had when she’d taken in out of the cauldron that summer, and turning it over revealed the same inscribed words she knew she’d find. 

_Tom_ _Marvolo_ _Riddle_

Ginny’s heart thudded in her chest. She looked up to see Hadrian still talking with Malfoy so, taking the chance, she slipped the book into her robes before hastily stuffing the rest of Hadrian’s things, including a weird brown parcel, into his bag. 

By the time Hadrian was finished talking with Malfoy, his bag was repacked and Ginny was stood nervously, wringing her hands and shuffling her feet. 

“Are you okay?” 

She looked up into bright green eyes but before she could respond, the same mix of fear, embarrassment and crippling sadness that she’d experienced earlier that year engulfed her. She nodded and offered a tremulous smile. 

“I-I’m good. Fine. Um...” She fidgeted. “I- uh- I have to go. Bye!” She spun and all but fled from the room, heedless of the weird looks thrown her way and contemplative frown on Hadrian’s face. 

That night, for the first time in months, her mind went blank even as her feet moved her towards the second-floor girl’s bathroom. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Severus watches the class file in. The Gryffindors aren’t their usual rowdy selves, though Finnegan and Weasley glare hatefully at the Slytherins who, in turn, wholly ignores them. This seems only to infuriate them more, but luckily for them, Longbottom trips over nothing and steals their attention. 

He does find it somewhat odd that not even Draco, who seems to derive personal pleasure from angering the Gryffindors, has a barb to spare, but it becomes readily obvious that it’s simply because the Slytherins have plans of their own. 

Nott bypasses his usual desk beside Hadrian and sits instead with Davis, who doesn’t so much as bat an eyelid when the tawny-haired boy unpacks his bag and sits beside her. The others are where they always are, with Draco attempting to help Crabbe and Goyle at the front, Zabini partnered with Bulstrode at the desk beside Hadrian’s and Runcorn and Parkinson relegated to the furthest, draughtiest part of the classroom. 

Severus meets Hadrian’s eye for a moment, but the boy gives nothing away and there’s no time to try and work out what exactly they have planned, so he starts his lesson. 

“If, by some miracle, you have managed to force the paltry clump of cells you call a brain to focus, by the end of today’s lesson you will have achieved these three things.” He waved his wand and the chalk started scribbling across the blackboard. “The first part is a brief focus on the history of brewing techniques and its evolution. Which means that Finnegan, your wand will remain on the desk and in full view of myself. I will not encourage your pyrotechnic disposition.” 

The Slytherins snickered at that, and the Irish boy opens his mouth to argue but promptly closes it when his desk partner- Thomas- nudges him in the ribs. Sulkily, he places the red oak wand on the table, his eyes flicking momentarily to Hadrian before facing mulishly forward. 

“It will be somewhat laborious and appear redundant, but I assure you that this topic has been known to come up on every OWL and NEWT exam for the past six decades, and if you fail to grasp it now, you never will. So, Weasley, if I catch you nodding, you will be running laps. And you two,” he turns to Brown and Patil, who stares up at him with wide eyes, “perhaps this lesson you will be more willing to share what is written on those notes I’ve seen being passed around?” 

Both girls pale dramatically before shaking their head, and Severus allows only a small tick of his lips when he hears the Slytherin’s none-too-subtle snickers. 

“The second part,” he continues, “is the practical. You will be brewing the base for the next potion on your syllabus which is what, Mr Zabini?” 

“The Hair-Raising Potion, sir." 

“Indeed. While the base is brewing, we will move onto the third part of this lesson, which will focus on atomic structure in relation to potion-brewing. I do not expect your puny minds to comprehend even a quarter of the final third of our lesson, but effort will be noted.” 

He pauses, surveying the class, and is pleased to see that they are all sitting up wide-eyed and alert. Good. Perhaps, he will have only three explosions to contend with today. 

Severus is about to continue when the doors to his classroom open and in slips Greengrass and Granger, as unlikely a pair as can be found. 

“How lovely for the two of you to finally join us,” he drawls. Greengrass’ shoulders stiffen and Granger’s face flames red. 

“Sorry, Professor, but Professor Binns asked for our help to take a stack of homework to the staff room, then the stairs changed and-” 

“I didn’t ask for your stammering excuses, Granger,” he cuts in, casting the girl a disinterested sneer. “Five points from Gryffindor for wasting the entire class’ time. Find your seats.” 

Both girls pause momentarily, searching out free seats. 

On the Gryffindor side of the classroom, Patil and Brown sit together across from Thomas and Finnegan, leaving two desks at the front: Longbottom at one and Weasley at the other. Granger seems torn. On one hand, Longbottom was disastrous at potions, and never failed to melt his pot or cause an explosion of some kind. He was who Granger usually sat with, though the frizzy-haired girl had taken to relegating him to preparation only. 

(Something Severus could grudgingly agree the boy was competent at) 

On the other hand, there was Weasley, who was slightly less of a disaster and more of a friend to Granger. If he were her, there would be no problem, but the girl is a Gryffindor. If she partners with Weasley, Longbottom is left to suffer Severus’ attention unbuffered, inevitably concocting some manner of disaster that lands the entire room in the Infirmary. If she partners with Longbottom, Weasley is left alone without anyone to ensure he stays awake keep his potion from being vanished at the end of the lesson. 

Quite the inane conundrum. 

In the end, she chooses Longbottom, which Severus can only sneer at. 

On the other side of the class, Greengrass slips into the only free seat on the Slytherin side. Her movements are jerky as she pulls out her parchment, quills and ink, and though she sniffs loudly and makes a point of not speaking to Hadrian, the boy hardly acknowledges her presence. 

For the rest of his lecture, he keeps an eye out for that particular desk. Nothing happens...until it does. 

They're nearing the end of the brewing phase, needing only to add a few more rat tails before stirring anti-clockwise for five minutes then clockwise for two, when he sees it. Despite being at odds-ends with each other, Hadrian and Greengrass seem to work well together, neither willing to compromise their grades for the sake of whatever petty rivalry they have going on. It looked as if Hadrian had overseen the first part, because it’s Greengrass who counts out the remaining rat tails needed. 

She’s about to add them when Crabbe stumbles back into their desk and knocks her things off, sending them tumbling to the floor in a flurry of parchment. Now, despite the number of cleaning charms he’s cast and the number of detentions he’s assigned to cleaning them, the floors of his potions classroom are always somewhat sticky, and if the blonde wants to avoid having to re-write her notes, she’d best pick them up soon. 

Hadrian still doesn’t glance at her, not when Crabbe turns to apologise profusely, nor when Zabini, passing and sidestepping the parchments, swaps the rat tails for porcupine quills. He does it so fast that, had Severus not been watching, he’d have missed it. 

Of course, Longbottom chooses that exact second to butcher his own potion, and Severus has barely a second to throw up the shield charm both Longbottom and Granger are too slow to cast before sticky, acid-green potion splatters against the desk and ceiling, releasing sickening, sulphurous smells. 

“Longbottom!” he bites out, before remembering the waiting disaster on the other side of the room. He spins and sees Greengrass about to drop the quills into the cauldron. He collects his magic, readies it, the incantation to activate the ward around the table on the tip of his tongue when green eyes flick up to meet his. 

For a moment, Severus is certain that Hadrian won’t stop her in time. He's sure that the dark-haired boy has a plan to escape from the inevitable explosion unharmed while his Housemate is rushed to St Mungo’s with possibly fatal injuries. He can see it in his eyes. 

But then, a second later, just as Greengrass goes to let go of the quills, Hadrian’s hand is there stopping her. 

Severus doesn’t hear what he says to her, only sees how he points out the difference between the quills and the tails before motioning lazily to the dripping mess Longbottom had just made. Greengrass’ eyes are wide and she hastily draws her hand away, teal eyes free from the derision and chagrin they’d had previously. 

With the crisis averted, he feels a stab of irritation at the boy- because _of course_ he had to use the highly volatile and dangerous environment of Severus’ classroom to make his political move of allyship of all places- but is left simply with relief that another disaster was avoided. 

(The still-disgruntled part of him points out that there _would_ be no potential disaster if Hadrian hadn’t had Zabini swap out the ingredients, but he easily silences that part) 

Instead, he verbally flays Longbottom and Granger for their inattention to detail and blatant disregard for rules and instruction. “Even Weasley has managed to brew something vaguely resembling what was asked for!” he growls as he vanishes the mess that drips all over the desk and pools on the floor, biting back the colourful words that threaten to spew from him. He'll have to make sure that Albus contracts more warders this summer. 

The rest of the lesson passes uneventfully. Their bases are left to simmer as he talks them through the world of atoms, molecules and elements. Most of it, he’s aware, goes over their head, with only the muggle-borns or muggle-raised grasping the most basic concepts. By the end of the lesson, once he’s assigned them an essay and informed them of the quiz they will be taking next lesson, he’s the usual mix of frustrated, annoyed and exhausted. 

The Gryffindors were quick to leave, not loitering about as they did in other classes to exchange meaningless chatter, and while the Slytherins were nowhere near as obvious in their desire to escape, they didn’t stick around much either. 

“Potter,” he called, halting the boy as he went to leave the classroom. “A word.” 

Potter smirked. “Just one, Professor?” 

Severus scowled. “Your cheek is not appreciated.” 

“But there was a lady in Diagon Alley who said-” he barely dodged the Stinging Hex Severus threw his way, laughing. “Okay, okay. What can I do for you, Professor?” 

Severus paused. “What you did was dangerous.” 

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Professor.” 

Severus scowled. “Do not play dumb with me. That little stunt of yours was stupid and reckless. Keep your politicking to the confines of the common room and _out_ of my classroom.” 

Hadrian just stared at him a moment, and it was like when they’d first met. Severus had the vague sense that Hadrian was evaluating whether he was worth listening to, whether his rules were worth following. 

Finally, after a few moments, Hadrian nodded. “Alright,” he conceded, “is there anything else? Crabbe and Goyle have a tendency to finish all the chicken sandwiches.” 

Severus suppressed a sigh. “No, there is something else. It is about your magic- more specifically, the troubles you have been having with it.” 

Once again, Hadrian’s face stilled, and he became little more than a breathing statue. “I’ve not had a problem with it.” 

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Really?” The boy nodded. “So I suppose you’ll be able to unlock the door then?” he asked as he silently cast a _Colloportus_ on it. Surprisingly, Hadrian nodded, and turned for the door. He raised his yew wand and cast. “ _Alohomora!”_

Severus hadn’t expected anything to actually happen, but to his surprise, there was a loud click and the door swung open. Blinking, he stepped forward, casting the charm to re-lock the door but when he didn’t hear the corresponding sound, he frowned. Bending forward, he inspected the lock. It was misshapen, chipped, as if it had been _broken_ \- 

“Potter,” he said sharply, looking at the boy. Hadrian stared back. “You didn’t _unlock_ the door-” 

“Yes I did.” 

“No, you _broke_ the lock. It’s not the same thing.” 

“Yes it is.” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

“Yes it is.” 

Severus scowled. He would not be sucked into this childish game. “You are well aware of the difference. This is a serious matter-” 

“I appreciate your concern, Professor,” Hadrian cut in, tone frosty and curt, “but I’m fine. There is nothing wrong with my magic.” 

They stood in silence for a while, simply watching each other, before Severus nodded. It was clear that Hadrian was in denial, which wasn’t all-too surprising. Still, regardless of whether or not the boy wanted to acknowledge it, he needed help far greater than what Severus or any of the staff could offer. 

“I see. In that case, hurry along. You may salvage a chicken sandwich yet.” 

* * *

Severus released a long-suffering sigh as he set down his quill and threw up a Tempus. Cursing, he stood, contemplated using the Floo before dismissing it. The walk would give him time to wake up, and he may just catch some curfew-breakers while he was at it. 

After his double period with the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors, he’d overseen remedial potions with a group of NEWT students who were hoping to become Healers, and they’d spent the afternoon until dinner brewing batch after batch of potions that could be used in the infirmary. Of the ten cauldrons brewed, only his and one other were sufficient to actually be used. The group had left exhausted but Severus was satisfied that they could recite the ingredients and brewing method to the ten most common healing potions in their sleep. 

That evening he’d dedicated to getting through the mountain of essays and quizzes that never seemed to get smaller. For a brief, delirious moment, he contemplated foregoing setting homework next week, but the thought is instantly dismissed. 

Potions was the hardest class on the syllabus, partly because it needed extensive knowledge of everything- from how the ingredients were gathered to the speed at which a potion is stirred- as well as intuition. Sometimes, there’s no explanation for why it takes seven Sopophorous beans in the Draught of the Living Dead, just an intuitive knowledge that six is not enough and eight is too much. 

His thoughts moved from the potions to the conundrum of Hadrian as he passed the Slytherin common room and, on a whim, decided to poke his head it. 

It was about midnight, so he expected the room to be at least somewhat empty. Purebloods had a tendency to plan each day out meticulously, with early starts and early finishes, leaving their children with not much of a penchant for staying up very late. The other Houses thought that the only reason that not many Slytherins were caught out after hours was because they were cunning and sneaky, but the simple truth was that they were too tired, and hardly found anything worth missing their sleep for. 

As expected, there were only a few still awake, and those were mostly paired off couples. Most noticeable was Kama and his court who were murmuring amongst themselves quietly in pride of place, by the large window looking out into the Black Lake. The dark-skinned boy glanced up and nodded at him, which Severus returned, casting a final glance around the room before leaving again. 

The castle was still and silent at this hour, as if time itself had frozen and held its breath. It was one of the things he loved most about the castle. Despite the war that raged outside or the scheming of the students it held, Hogwarts seemed immune to time or corruption. These halls were the same ones he’d walked for seven years when he’d attended as a student, the same that remained after he left to make foolish choices, the same that he came back to when the opportunity to do right was offered. It never seemed to judge, the castle, nor did it reprimand or belittle. While undoubtedly sentient, Hogwarts always simply listened and healed, giving shelter when needed, offering sanctuary to the lost. 

Severus wondered whether it could do anything for Hadrian, whether it already had. In the brief time that the boy had been in the Wizarding World, Severus could already see a change in him. 

Where before he was cold even to look at, now he masked it with a cool smile. The Hadrian of a year ago would undoubtedly have let Greengrass destroy the potion today, but it was a sign of growth that he’d stopped her, even if it was only to serve his own means in the end. 

There was a noise, like a muffled shout up ahead, and Severus’ wand was in his hand before he had to think about it, a _Lumos_ brightening the corridor. It was apparently empty, but Severus had spent twelve years as a professor and seven years before that as a student; if anybody knew the castle, he did. 

He made short work of concealing himself, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of the Disillusionment Charm as he flitted from corridor to corridor in search of the wayward student. 

He was near the library when he caught them, and for a second he wanted to grin with elation at who it was. Minerva swore that if Granger was ever caught breaking the rules, she’d buy the entire staff a bottle of Ogden’s finest, and here the girl was, forcing her Head of House to pull through. 

A moment later, though, Severus realised something was off. The girl was completely still, leaning against the wall with her watch raised to her face, but even when he snarled out to her that she would be serving a detention later, she didn’t move. 

He waited a moment. Perhaps she was trying to imitate a statue. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a student try that, and the number was no doubt going to go up, but she didn’t even look like she was breathing. Dread balled in his stomach as he came closer, close enough to see the stricken expression on her face and her wide, glassy eyes. 

Immediately, he summoned his Patronus, turning to speak into the deer. “Albus, there has been another one-” 

He never got to finish the message because there, on the other side of his Patronus, was a huge, scaled body with bright yellow eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here we are. What did you think?  
> If you guys have a look a the updated tags, you'll see that this particular work will run up until fourth year, so perhaps around sixty chapters? Don't quote me on that.  
> Anyway, drop me a kudo and a comment.


	26. The Problem of Petrifications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, would you look at that- another chapter! Yay! Let's just forget the month-long wait shall we...

_How like winter hath my absence been from thee  
_ _-Shakespeare, Sonnet 97_

Hadrian watched Professor Sinistra as she spoke with the Prefects in low murmurs, a privacy ward muffling their words. It was an oddly intense discussion, one Hadrian wished he could listen in to. 

(He made a mental note to study wards. It would be good prep for when he took Ancient Runes and Arithmancy next year) 

The professor had barred anyone from leaving the common room which had the effect of both irritating and intriguing the rest of the House. Word soon spread and here they were, half an hour later at 7:15 on a Saturday waiting to find out why exactly they were forbidden from enjoying their weekend freedom. 

Draco sat grumpily to one side and Theo on the other, laughing at the blond’s futile attempts to stir Goyle from his sleep. Hadrian was going to suggest a stinging hex but just then the privacy ward came down and the discussion group turned to the rest of the House. 

“Good Morning, students. There have been some changes which you all need to be aware of and abide by. Failure to do so will result in a months worth of detention with Filch and myself. Each.” 

She levelled them with a stern stare, waiting patiently until the murmurs quieted down. “First of all, Hogsmeade Trips have been cancelled until further notice and” the noise got too loud for her to be heard, so she paused and waited for the upper years’ cry of dismay to fade “and access to the grounds has been prohibited. No student is to be outside of the castle at any time for any reason. Furthermore, students will be restricted to two areas of the castle: the Great Hall or their Common Room. Registers will be taken by members of staff to ensure that everyone is accounted for, both upon arrival to either room and at each meal.” 

Once again she paused and allowed them all to have their moment of astonishment. “What about the library, professor?” asked Tracey. “Can we at least go there?” 

“The library is currently off-limits-” 

“But professor I have NEWTs! I need to study!” cried a seventh-year girl. Several other seventh and fifth years chimed their agreement. 

Professor Sinistra held up her hand. “I will bring the point up to the Headmaster. We may be able to sort something out, but nobody is to go there unless told otherwise. Breakfast is from eight to nine, lunch is twelve-thirty to two and dinner is at six. 

“Now, I expect these rules to be followed to the ‘t’. Mr Kama and the Prefects will be ensuring you do so. If I have one report from them that any of you have chosen to ignore these rules, you will find yourself on the train back to London faster than the house elves can pack your belongings. Are there any questions?” 

Nobody spoke for a moment before someone called. “Where’s Snape?” Hadrian looked over to see Flint frowning at the Astrology professor. “He’s our Head of House. He usually tells us stuff like this.” 

Hadrian frowned. The question had occurred to him as well, but he’d dismissed it as unimportant. It wasn’t unusual to see Professor Sinistra in the common room sometimes, often when Snape had Head of House duties to do that took him away from the castle. She was, to Hadrian’s knowledge, the only other Slytherin staff member and it seemed the only one willing to enter the Snake Den. But this- what Sinistra was doing- was Head of House duties. Snape should have been telling them this, not her. He certainly would have had an easier time of it. 

Hadrian watched as Sinistra flinched at Flinch’s question, and it only served to strengthen his doubts. Snape and Sinistra got on the best of all the staff members, or as much as it seemed Snape could get along with anyone. _What_ was going on? 

“ _Professor_ Snape is otherwise occupied,” she said, drawing her robes closer as she folded her arms. The whispers exploded into loud chatter. “In the interim, I will fill in as acting Head of House. If anyone has a problem with that, I invite you to speak now.” The look she levelled them with was cool, must colder than any member of staff dared direct at a student. 

(with the exception of Snape of course, but one could argue that it was just his face) 

When nobody said anything, she nodded curtly. “Good. We leave in fifteen minutes, so if there is anything you need go and get it now.” 

Tracey immediately stood up and stomped off to the girl dorms, huffing and mumbling as she went, but Hadrian hardly paid her any attention. 

“Something has happened,” he mumbled to himself absently. That could be the only explanation. These restrictions were too severe to be nothing. Cancelling Hogsmeade trips would have been the most logical thing to do months ago. Restricting them to being inside the castle at all times was strict. But keeping them confined to their common room and the Great Hall? That was overkill...unless something had happened to warrant it. 

And what could the professors fear that was within the castle? 

_(he stubbornly ignored the_ _Quirrell_ _situation. Dumbledore admitted to setting that up)_

_“_ There’s been another one,” he said, louder this time so the other could hear him. Millicent frowned. 

“Another what?” 

“Petrification.” 

“Another?” Draco squeaked, eyes wide. “How’d you know there’s been another one?” 

Hadrian made an irritated noise in his throat. Honestly, did nobody else have a functioning brain? “It’s obvious. They wouldn’t be doing all of this for nothing. Chances are, whoever the beast got, they were important.” 

Nobody said anything for a while until Theo cleared his throat. “Do you think someone died?” His voice was surprisingly steady, considering how Draco’s eyes grew twice as wide and Blaise shifted uncomfortably. “The last time, when that student died, they planned on closing the school.” 

Hadrian narrowed his eyes. Was that the Heir’s goal, to get Hogwarts to close? But to what end? Why couldn’t they have done whatever they needed to _outside_ of the castle during any of the breaks, or even a Hogsmeade weekend? Was it for the sole purpose of closing the school? 

And then there was the question of what he would do if the school _did_ close. Where would he go? He doubted Dumbledore would allow him to return to Malfoy Manor, and he hadn’t yet cultivated a close enough relationship with Lyra Potier to get her to consider stepping in if the Headmaster tried to give custody to Mrs Tonks. What would happen then? Would he have to go back to Lewisham, to the orphanage and Madame Muller and Travis Connelly- back to the basement? 

No. Hogwarts couldn’t close. He wouldn’t allow it. 

“Do we know who died fifty years ago?” he finally asked, but they all shook their heads. “Okay. Blaise, I’d like you to find out. Someone in this castle must know, and if anyone can get the information it’s you.” 

Daphne scoffed. “Please. Blaise’s contacts extend as far knowing who’s sleeping with who. He can hardly get such pertinent information.” 

The Italian gaped at her, before smirking. “You can do my Defence essays for two weeks once I prove you wrong.” 

The blonde smirked back. “And you will mail a letter to your mother from me- without opening or looking at it- once I've showed you up again.” Blaise blinked at her in confusion. 

“My mother? What do you want with her?” 

Daphne’s grin turned sharper. “Well,” she drawled, raking her gaze over the Italian, “You have nothing to offer me.” 

Hadrian rolled his eyes at the two of them as they descended into their usual veiled-threats/barbed-compliments spiel. They'd always been much too alike to get on very well. 

“There’s only one question then,” said Draco. “Where’s Uncle Sev?” He looked at Hadrian expectantly, but the raven-haired boy could only grit his teeth and jerk his head. 

“I admit, I am...concerned about that as well.” He glanced at Theo, and the brunet offered him a small smile before squeezing his shoulder. 

(Neither of them noticed the blond’s scowl) 

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably in some cushy lab brewing potions for the Ministry. If there was something to be concerned over, the professors would let us know, right?” 

Hadrian nodded absently, but his mind went once again to Quirrell. Dumbledore had used the philosopher’s stone as a trap for Voldemort. He must have known the entire time that Quirrell was possessed, that the man had posed a threat to the students he’d sworn to protect. What stopped him from doing the same now? 

“Of course,” he muttered to the other boys, though the uneasy feeling persisted. Tracey came back then, her bag bulging with books, and the mousy haired girl shot Draco a sharp look when the blond pointed out that she could always opt to return to the common room instead of bringing her entire trunk with her. 

Before she could give a scathing retort, though, Professor Sinistra announced that they were leaving for the Great Hall. “I am sure you are no strangers to... _unsavoury_ remarks and the like,” she started, “but I must impress upon you all the importance of decorum. Now, more than ever, you need to be everything you have learned to be and more. It won’t be easy, but the House must stick together.” Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Hadrian briefly. “ _Everyone_.” 

The Prefects arranged for them to line up in their year groups. They had it so that the seventh years would enter first, followed by the fifth, then first and second. Sixth years were at the back, with the fourth years immediately in front of them and third years in front of the fourth. It seemed odd, at first, but the reason soon became apparent. 

The roar of noise from the Great Hall could be heard before they’d even climbed the penultimate set of stairs to the ground floor. The small whispers of their House died off and almost as one, they squared their shoulders and lifted their chins. 

Entering the Hall reminded Hadrian of his first Quidditch game, except this time, the roar of the school ended abruptly as their House stepped in. Every single eye, from the meekest first year to the sneering seventh, was trained on them, tracking their progress through the Hall. Professor Sinistra swept up to the Head Table with all the flair of Snape before sinking gracefully into her seat. Her narrowed, cat-like eyes watched them make their way to their House table and sit. 

Once they were all seated, the Headmaster stood up. “Good morning, students...though I fear some of you won’t share the sentiment.” He paused here, and there was some kind of shifting amongst the other Houses. Hadrian exchanged glances with Theo. “By now, you will all have been informed by your Heads of House of the new rules in place. Now, don’t fear, they will not be for long. They are merely cautionary measures to ensure everyone’s safety.” 

Across the Hall, at either the Hufflepuff or Gryffindor table, someone snorted aloud. “Bit late for that!” 

A titter ran through the Hall, and Hadrian watched a fleeting, sad smile flit across the Headmaster’s face. “Indeed, Mr McLaggen. Every member of staff, from myself to Mr Filch has vowed to do everything in our power to keep you all safe.” 

Beside him, Everson Kent, a third year, snorted softly. “Fat lot of a good a squib can do against Slytherin’s beast, huh?” he murmured, grinning at Hadrian. 

The Headmaster clapped then, and the food appeared on platters. “Now then! With that grave business over, I won’t delay your meal any longer. We can speak after you’ve gorged on pastries.” 

Noise exploded once more, the other Houses’ thunderous chattering drowning out the Slytherins’ confused murmurs. Clearly, something had happened that the other Houses knew about and blamed them for, but having been confined to the Dungeons, none of them knew _what_. 

Hadrian had just finished his bowl of syrupy porridge when the table grew quiet. He looked up into wide blue eyes and sparkling golden hair. “Sally-Anne,” he smiled, rising. She gave him a tremulous smile in response. He frowned. “What’s wrong?” 

She wrung her hands for a moment, and it was only when he saw her gaze dart to the sharp, probing eyes of his Housemates that he realised how out of place she was amongst the Snakes. Not even the Ravenclaws had approached them this morning, when there were usually a few hovering around to speak to their upper years. 

“Come.” He stood, leading her a small distance away but far enough so they weren’t overheard. Then he traced out the muffling charm Theo had taught him, and while somewhat shaky, paired with the noise of the Hall it would do the job. 

Hadrian placed a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Sally-Anne? What happened? Was it Smith? What did he do-” 

“I’m _fine_ Harry.” She smiled up at him then, and it was slightly stronger before her brows tugged down into a frown. “It- it’s not about me.” She took a deep breath then before looking up at him. “It’s about Granger.” 

“Granger?” he parroted, baffled. He glanced across the Hall, but he couldn’t see the other girl at her House table. 

Sally-Anne looked to be searching his face for a while with a pensive expression, before she nodded curtly and offered him a small smile. “I knew it wasn’t you. You couldn’t have.” 

“I most certainly could,” he argued back instinctively, before pausing. “Er...could what?” 

The look on Sally-Anne's face grew sombre. “They’re saying she’s been petrified.” 

Granger? That didn’t make much sense. In the grand scheme of things, she was hardly important enough for all of this- she was _muggle-born_. 

Apparently, he’d said so out loud because Sally-Anne slapped him on the arm and glared at him reproachfully. 

“In case you’ve forgotten,” she hissed, eyes narrowed, “I’m a muggle-born too.” 

“No you’re not. Lyra Potier said-” 

“That I _might_ be distantly related to them. We have no proof yet.” 

He rolled his eyes, but settled a hand on her shoulder. “We all know that you _are,_ though. Anyway, that’s not the point. I don’t care if Granger’s a muggle-born. My mother was. You more than anyone should know I have no problems with blood.” He gave her a significant look, to which she just blushed and ducked her head. “Besides, that isn’t what I meant. We both know that, for all their touting of equality or harmony, the wizarding world wouldn’t do all of this for someone without political clout. They didn’t for Malone or Moon. Why Granger?” 

Sally-Anne frowned, lips pursed in thought and brows furrowed, but eventually gave a helpless shrug. Hadrian bit back a sigh, instead offering her a small smile. He let a curl of magic wrap around her, watching as she swayed slightly closer. “It’s alright,” he said soothingly. “I’ll work this out. You go have breakfast.” 

As he returned to his seat, Hadrian noticed Parkinson slinking away from Burke. “Granger’s been petrified,” he said to his year-mates, and watched their various stages of (veiled) surprise. Only Millicent appeared to be troubled by this at all, while Daphne just smirked, and Blaise hummed thoughtfully. 

Draco grinned. “Well maybe she needs her _Sir Luckless_ to give her the kiss of life,” he said, watching Theo with sparkling silver eyes. 

Theo just sneered, though Hadrian had seen his hand twitch towards his wand. Tracey grimaced. 

“That was a gross hybrid of Muggle and Wizarding fairy tales, Malfoy,” she drawled. Draco shrugged. 

“A representation of their love, no?” 

Hadrian rolled his eyes. Word had clearly spread, and there was a nervous energy about the Slytherins as they ate. The rest of the Hall was abuzz with righteous indignation, both appalled at Granger’s possible petrification but perversely excited at the prospect of drama. Amongst his House, however, Hadrian noticed that they erred closer to fascination than appalment. 

One of the Quidditch team’s Beaters, Lucian Bole, was spinning an engrossing narrative about how Granger had challenged Slytherin’s beast with her impossibly large front teeth. 

Hestia Carrow, one half of a rather nasty pair of twins in third year, declared that the spirit of Salazar Slytherin himself had been invoked and set about to complete the task he’d started a thousand years ago. 

Sixth year Suzette Blackeley was loudly sneering about how much better the school would be without the filth they’d let into the school. 

Everyone seemed to finish eating earlier than normal, and by eight o’clock, people started moving around, sitting with friends from other Houses to spread even more gossip. When the platters of food disappeared, Crabbe and Goyle nearly groaned with despair. Across the Hall, there was a chorus of noise from the Gryffindors which prompted the Slytherins to don their most disdainful sneers. 

While the Prefects made their way to Professor McGonagall for a debriefing, Hadrian had half his mind on concentrating on the Carrows’ whispers about the fine Frankfurt Sparks had been forced to pay and the resulting financial hardship of their year-mate, Lola Sparks and the other half trying to puzzle out what was happening in the castle. 

First, Filch’s mangy cat is petrified and found hanging next words written in blood about an Heir and a Chamber and, within the next two months, two students and a ghost are petrified. Then...nothing for months. The Heir had from Yule until now to petrify more students or terrorize muggle-borns or do _something-_ but nothing happened. Was it because they had returned home for the Yule holidays? 

_(“Her crystals,” Flora_ _Carrow_ _hissed. “I want those crystals. Do you think she’d sell? She won’t be getting any more.”)_

And then there was the coincidence of Snape suddenly being ‘otherwise occupied’. Was he sick? He hadn’t looked much different from his usual surly self in class yesterday, but perhaps Wizarding flu came on faster than muggle ones. Hadrian wouldn’t know much, though- he'd never had so much as a sniffle. 

_(“You have enough crystals, Flora,” Hestia snapped back. “Think bigger. Mother is always complaining about how Lola’s mother parades around her horned-serpent purse. If we can give it to Mother, she’ll be in a good mood for the next year and you can get as many crystals as you want.”)_

No, Snape couldn’t be sick. If he was, Professor Sinistra would just say so- none of the other professors had a problem doing so when they had to miss a class here or there. So if it wasn’t illness, what could it be? 

Hadrian glanced at the Head Table to where the Headmaster was smiling as he spoke to the Prefects. Maybe Dumbledore had sent him somewhere. Yes, that seemed most plausible. Snape was a smart, knowledgeable man. He probably had...contacts, or something, that could help them figure out the whole Heir problem. 

He should send a letter, then. If he told Snape what he knew- that Hagrid had been expelled for apparently harbouring the creature that killed the student, and that it had been Tom Riddle who’d turned him in- it might help. Though, knowing Snape, the man probably knew all about that months ago. 

_(“Don’t be ridiculous, Hestia, she’ll never do it,” scoffed Flora, rolling her eyes and tossing her hair over her shoulder._

_“She will if she wants the Warrington's to sign the contract. Acne scars are so unbecoming on one’s intended.” Hestia twirled her wand before grinning sharply._

_Flora gasped, before ducking her head closer to her twin. “Is it the one that Auntie Alecto used on that_ _mudblood_ _in_ _Diagon_ _Alley last year?”)_

_“_ Do you think that we’d be allowed a trip to the owlery?” he asked Theo, cutting into the brunet’s scathing remarks on Draco’s mother-hen tendencies (the blond had been attempting to instruct Crabbe in how to hold his quill to get better penmanship). 

Theo sighed, before turning to him. “No, I don’t think so. They probably don’t want us owling our parents with news of these restrictions. It’d cause panic.” 

Hadrian nodded, humming. Maybe he could send Zilia off with a note when she delivered a Prophet to him. It wouldn’t be much, but he could get the basics down. Plus, it saved him from explaining how he’d gotten the information. 

(Somehow, he didn’t think the Potions Master would be too pleased with hearing how he’d been mysteriously communicating with a sentient book) 

“Why?” Theo asked, raising a brow. “Do you have a plan?” 

Hadrian just smirked. 

“Tracey, could I use some parchment?” The girl just stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll get Snape’s personal notes on the Wiggenweld potion.” She smirked at him and handed the parchment over. He thanked her absently, reaching his hand into Theo’s pocket for the self-inking falcon quill he always kept before scribbling out a hasty note. Once done, he folded the note in half, writing _Severus Snape_ on the front and casting some of the privacy charms Higgs had taught him earlier that year. 

It was a little difficult, considering they were mostly based around _Alohomora_ , but he figured they’d hold up for long enough, unless Snape was somewhere like the Himalayas or Amazon rainforest. 

Theo frowned. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding at the parchment. 

“A plan.” 

“A plan?” parroted Draco, abandoning Crabbe. 

“Chaos,” Theo just sighed. 

Just then, there was the familiar flurry of wings, and the hall filled with the morning owl post. 

Draco got another one of Narcissa’s care packages and Hadrian stubbornly told himself that it was simply his appreciation of wizarding agriculture that made him smile when the blond handed over a package to him. The Malfoys had an orchard on their grounds which supplied them with sugary apples. Hadrian had tasted them for the first time when he’d stayed with them during the summer and it had since become his favourite food ever (after treacle tart, of course). Theo teased him relentlessly about his sweet tooth, but Hadrian rather thought it worth it. 

Zilia was nowhere to be seen, and it was only when he’d been about to ask Draco to use his owl that he heard her screech. The black eagle swooped in gracefully, a gliding shadow against the clear blue sky of the enchanted ceiling. Beside her flew Hedwig, who cooed at the eagle before dipping towards the Hufflepuff table. 

Their table was clear, with all the platters long-since having disappeared, but Zilia still chose to land on his shoulder, smacking Theo in the back of the head with one of her wings. Hadrian chuckled and stroked down her chest. “Hey girl,” he said softly, smiling as she chirped at him. “It looks like you’ve made peace with Hedwig,” he noted, laughing when she tossed her head back. “I don’t have any food for you, but I need you to take this to Professor Snape for me.” 

He rolled his eyes when she tossed her head again and cried. “I know, I know. He won’t ignore you this time. It’s important.” He stared at her imploringly until she stuck a leg out. Hadrian tied the note around her foot, stroking her again in thanks. When the other owls took their leave, she nipped his finger and screeched in his ear. “Okay, okay,” he grumbled, pulling his wand from its holster. 

When he’d been writing to Tom in the owlery, he’d taken to practising his transfiguration wandwork with the owls. It had taken a while, but he’d managed to turn just about anything into mice for them to catch. Initially, Zilia had intimidated the owls from going after them, but after a screeching match with Hedwig, the eagle decided that mice were far beneath her. 

Hadrian looked around the hall for something to transfigure. There was a button on the floor beside a Ravenclaw’s bag which would suffice. He pointed his wand at the button before tracing the wand movement McGonagall had impressed upon them this year in class. 

_Around, down and flick_. 

The button sprouted legs and pincers and- while still rounder than a normal beetle- no longer resembled the button it once was. Before the thing could scuttle too far away (Hadrian had spent the lesson laughing at Blaise as he chased his beetle about the class) he aimed his wand again and muttered the incantation they’d learnt last year. 

The beetle thickened about the middle, and its legs got longer. The pincers lengthened and whiskers sprouted from its newly formed face. It took perhaps twenty seconds for the transfiguration to finish- longer than he’d like, but he wasn’t very well versed on rodent or insect anatomy- but at the end of it there was a small, slightly fat brown mouse scuffling around the feet of the Ravenclaws. 

Draco, who’d been watching the process along with the rest of their House, frowned. “What-” 

Hadrian stood at the same time that a great fuss broke out at the Ravenclaw table. Runcorn and Parkinson, who had attached themselves to Cho Chang’s group of simpering sycophants, screamed first, jumping onto the bench and swatting uselessly at their legs. The other girls followed suit, shrieking and flailing uselessly. 

As he passed by the chaos unnoticed, Zilia launched herself off his shoulder and into the air for only a moment before diving towards the Ravenclaw table. 

It was over quickly, though it took several moments for the girls to realize. By the time Professor Flitwick had assured them that they were perfectly fine, Zilia had flown out with the mouse clutched in her talons. 

“Ginny,” he called. In all the noise, nobody had noticed him get to the Gryffindor, where he now stood. “Is it alright if I talk to you for a moment?” 

The redhead’s eyes were huge, her mouth hanging open slightly. Colin opposite her, kicked her shins under the table and she shook her head before nodding. “Of course!” she squeaked, her cheeks darkening. “I mean, I- that is...yes?” 

He chuckled and sat across from her and beside Colin, casting an absent charm that ironed out the wrinkles in the younger boy’s shirt. “Great. I could tell you were interested in what Tracey was saying the other day about the use of charms in duels and-” 

“Oi!” a loud voice cut in. “Leave her alone, you slimy git!” Hadrian looked up to see a furious Ronald Weasley ambling his way over, face set in a scowl and fists clenched at his sides. The ginger stopped beside his sister, setting an imperial hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you bugger off to the rest of your lot?” 

“Yeah!” piped up another voice from further up the table. “You’ve got some nerve coming here after what you did to Hermione!” 

There was a chorus of voices bleating in agreement. Hadrian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “We’re just talking, Ronald,” he drawled. “You’re more than welcome to join in, but I doubt you’ll have anything useful to add to the conversation.” He raised a brow at the other boy and watched as his face turned redder than even he thought possible. 

“You just got your bloody bird to attack those girls!” 

“Zilia is an eagle, Weasley,” he explained slowly, as if the boy was hard of hearing. “And an eagles’ natural prey includes rodents.” Hadrian shrugged then, before smiling. “You can no more blame her for eating the mouse than I can you for being stupid.” 

Weasley stared at him in silence for a moment, trying to puzzle out what he’d said, before his face flamed again. He pointed an accusing finger at Hadrian. “I know it was you, you slimy git-” 

“Harry didn’t do it!” shouted Colin, face screwed up into a look of mulish determination. “He’s not horrible like you all keep saying. He’s certainly nicer than _you_.” 

Ronald scowled at the younger boy, lip pulling up in a sneer, but he seemed to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something. “He’s tricked you, Creevey. You’re just too blind to see-” 

“That he’s spent more time with me this year than you have?” challenged Ginny. Her eyes were narrowed as she glared at her brother over her shoulder, shaking his hand off. Like the first time Hadrian had met her, Ginny’s magic was whipping about her wildly, as fractured and prickly as ever. It was almost hilarious how quickly Ronald blanched under his sister’s piercing gaze, backing up hastily as his mouth made a surprised ‘o’. 

Hadrian sighed. “I don’t want to cause any trouble, so I’ll leave. For what it’s worth, I didn’t petrify Granger. She's one of the few who poses any intellectual challenge.” 

“Which is exactly why you did it!” 

Hadrian laughed at that, standing. “And that, Ronald, is the difference between you and me.” He offered the boy a tight-lipped smile before squeezing Colin’s shoulder and making his way back to his seat. 

“Hadrian!” hissed Millicent when he reclaimed his seat, eyes narrowed. “You’re not doing much to dissuade them that you’re the Heir.” 

He smiled at her. “They’re stupid. They’ll believe what they want. At least if they’re scared, they’re less likely to get in my way.” 

“Or more likely to try and stop you,” countered Blaise. Hadrian pointedly ignored him. 

“So that was the plan?” scoffed Draco, arching a blond brow. “And what exactly did you achieve?” 

Hadrian met Theo’s eyes, and the tawny-haired boy smirked. 

“Chaos.” 

* * *

The Heads of Houses (and Professor Sinistra) all stood at the same time, and Hadrian noted how haggard and harried each of them looked. Sprout’s riotous curls seemed frizzier than usual, and Flitwick wasn’t wearing his customary genial smile. McGonagall looked the worse of them all. Her grey-streaked hair fell from her habitually neat bun and the lines on her face seemed deeper than they had the day before. 

Soon enough, everyone was trying to squeeze through the doors. The Headmaster had announced that they’d organised for students to go to the library if they so wished, and after a brief discussion, the second-year Slytherins decided to take them up on the offer. The rest of their House, while having friends in other Houses, kept mostly to themselves, and almost all of them opted to go back to the common room. 

The Great Hall would be full of Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs looked like they’d be staying too. Even so, there was a considerable amount of students trying to fit through the doors to the Great Hall in order to get to their destination, but not enough for conversations to be lost in the noise. 

“At least without Granger hogging the books, I’ll get to finish my Charms essay,” joked Patrick Fincher. 

The Ravenclaw spoke a bit too loudly, and the noise died down at that precise moment, allowing his voice to carry across to the Gryffindors. One of them, an upper year student whose name Hadrian couldn’t care to remember, whirled around. “Hey, you take that back!” 

Surprised, the Ravenclaw took a step back before sneering. “The truth hurts but it’s not a sin.” 

This only served to anger the rest of the Gryffindors, who all yelled at once, and a few of the Hufflepuffs to send them reproachful looks while the Slytherins just snickered. “Oh relax,” the Ravenclaw said, rolling his eyes. “We all know about your abysmal grades in Defence and Charms. What are you gonna do, lecture me? Maybe Granger rubbed off on you more than anyone else.” 

That elicited an excited titter. The Gryffindor growled unintelligibly for a moment before launching himself at the brunet. 

Sound exploded as the two boys traded blows, the Gryffindor obviously having the upper hand. It was an uncouth display, utterly barbaric, but Hadrian had to admit somewhat ingenious. It was easy to forget that there was a defence outside of one’s wand. 

The brawl turned into some kind of frenzy as each boy’s House tried to separate them. Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor Prefect, was shouting uselessly from the sidelines while Penelope Clearwater (Weasley’s girlfriend, according to Blaise) was trying to cast spells to separate them. 

The Slytherins stayed well away from it all, quite aware of how eager the rest of the school was to get their hands on them, Hadrian especially. They watched from a distance with glittering eyes and sharp smiles as Lee Jordan jumped to his friend’s defence, hexing Nathaniel Douglas when he jinxed Trisha Buttermere (who Tracey had once bribed with butterbeer for her pass into the Restricted Area) for defending Kajol Bhatt. 

It was absolute mayhem. Hadrian knew that it was only a matter of time before the Ravenclaws were beaten, especially since they didn’t have the Slytherins as their unofficial allies like 6they usually did. The Eagles may be uncannily smart, but they lacked the dogged determination of the Badgers or sheer stupidity of the Lions. 

Hadrian turned to say as much to Theo, but only let out a harsh “ _Oof_ ” when he was propelled into the foray of flailing limbs. The crowd surged and writhed; elbows were thrust into ribs, feet and legs were trampled and hexes flew. He didn’t even know how he could have gotten sucked in, especially with how far back he’d been standing, but that didn’t matter when he was trying to deflect spell light and fists. 

A random fist struck him in his side, another forcing the breath from his lungs as it collided with his stomach. Someone in front of him, a taller Gryffindor by their robes, stumbled back, their head smacking into his nose. 

Hadrian snapped his head back as pain exploded in his face and he choked on the sudden gush of copper that slipped down his throat. An arm shoved at his shoulders, pushing him further into the madness and a sharp, sticking sensation on his hands indicated a hex of some sort had found its home on his skin. 

There was a loud, booming voice calling for silence and stillness, but Hadrian was hardly aware of it. His head throbbed, his sides ached, and his hand felt like it had swelled to twice its size. Someone was barking for students to line up in their respective Houses. The crowd swelled slightly, like they were readying themselves for another barbaric frenzy but another sharp word quelled them, and the students all filed obediently to their glaring Heads of Houses. 

“This type of behaviour will _not_ be tolerated,” McGonagall said, her Scottish burr thicker than Hadrian had ever heard it. “Everyone will be returning to their common rooms. If you insist on acting like wee mites, then we’ll treat you like one.” 

She dismissed them then, and Hadrian was spat unceremoniously out into the nearest wall with barely enough time to cradle his head before it smacked into unyielding stone. He didn’t dare move for a moment, catching his breath and cataloguing his injuries. They weren’t any worse than he’d had before, but it didn’t hurt any less. 

Nearby, he could hear McGonagall scathing the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor who’d started the whole thing, and it wasn’t until he uncurled himself with a small groan that she realised he was still there. 

“Potter!” she snapped. “Why are you still here? Return to your House line at once or I will be deducting-” 

“Harry!” another voice cut in, and there was the sound of hurried footsteps before a hand settled on his shoulder. 

Hadrian growled and went to throw the hand off but stopped when he saw Sally-Anne's wide eyes staring at him with blatant concern. He offered her a weak smile, patting the hand that wasn’t currently pinching his nose on her back. “I’ll be fine, Sally-Anne. ‘s jus’ a little blood.” 

The girl narrowed her eyes at him before turning to glare at the rest of the students who stood staring and whispering. There weren’t many left, most of them eager to escape the Deputy Headmistress’ infamous ire, but almost half of the school loitered, doing their best to delay their new punishment. 

Sally-Anne's lips twitched down as her brows furrowed, and a look of such intense _anger_ sparkled in her eyes of a kind that Hadrian didn’t even know she was capable of. 

“You half-witted _buffoons_!” she hissed, standing over him protectively. 

McGonagall gasped. “Miss Perks!” 

The golden-haired girl turned her ire on the Professor. “Look at what they did to him! All because of some baseless rumours!” She turned back to the crowd of gaping teenagers. “How do you expect Harry to have petrified all those students _and_ a ghost? Nobody can do that!” 

“He killed You-Know-Who!” called a boy who Hadrian thought to be a fifth year Hufflepuff. “Nobody else could do that either!” 

“For God’s sake, he was a _baby!_ And if he killed the bastard, why would he petrify anyone?” 

“Miss Perks!” 

“He’s a Parselmouth- Slytherin's Heir! He controls the beast!” 

The look Sally-Anne shot him was full of such vitriolic disgust that the entire student body took a collective step back. “I don’t care if he could talk to flying piglets! I swear on all that is holy, if anyone tries to hurt him you will have more than a _beast_ to worry about.” 

There was silence at the girl’s proud declaration, everyone staring at her with wide eyes. Hadrian stared at his friend too. She probably didn’t realise, he tried to reason with himself. She probably didn’t understand the severity of her words. She didn’t know that such a declaration, such a weighty promise spoken in front of hundreds of students and almost the entirety of the staff was binding, magically binding in an oath. 

Hadrian could feel the magic, could see the way it looped around him and her, tying them together in a band of gold. Sally-Anne turned away from the crowd, and Hadrian straightened. His nose was still bleeding and his body still ached, but he felt like he could take on the world with the way Sally-Anne was looking at him. 

He set a hand on her shoulder and let his magic run through his veins, passing from his palm into her. Her blue eyes shone brighter, her hair sparkled a little more, and she grinned up at him before turning to a stunned Professor McGonagall. 

“Professor, Harry needs to see Madam Pomfrey. I can escort him.” 

McGonagall stared at them for a moment before clearing her throat. “That will not be necessary, Miss Perks. Return to your House line, I will escort Mr Potter.” Her lime green eyes slid over to Hadrian, who simply looked back impassively, before she turned sharply away. 

“Heads, please escort your Houses to their common rooms and remind them of the decorum and behaviour expected of Hogwarts’ students. Fincher and Towler, follow me.” She didn’t wait for him before setting off down the hall. 

Ordinarily, it was only one flight of stairs up to the Hospital Wing, but they had decided to change. The four of them walked in tense silence up to the third floor, down a short flight onto the second before catching a set of stairs just as they moved to take them onto the first. 

“Poppy,” the Scotswoman called as they entered the starched white room. Hadrian had never liked the place. It was so...so _white._ White walls, white sheets, white floor- it gave him a headache to look at, and reminded him bitterly of Petunia’s kitchen. 

The Mediwitch bustled out of her office at the back of the room. On her way towards them, she passed several curtained beds. Hadrian counted five. Five? Only three students had been petrified- Malone, Moon and Granger. A fourth bed could be attributed to the Gryffindor ghost, but then what was the fifth? 

“Oh dear,” Madam Pomfrey said as she neared the three of them. “What happened?” 

“These two _bampots_ decided brawling was a good idea. Mr Potter got caught in the fray.” 

The Mediwitch tsked and directed each of them to a bed. He chose one closest to the curtained ones. McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him but then Fincher cried out at Madam Pomfrey’s _Episkey_ and drew her attention. 

It didn’t take long for the others to get fixed up since they only had a few minor bruises and a busted lip, so McGonagall gave Madam Pomfrey instructions to Floo either her or Professor Sinistra when he needed to go. 

The Transfiguration teacher turned to go, but hesitated slightly by the door. “Potter...” 

He looked at her blankly, holding some tissue Madam Pomfrey had handed to him to his nose. It was completely soiled already. She didn’t say anything else before leaving, the door clicking shut behind her. 

Madam Pomfrey tutted and grumbled about him constantly getting into scrapes as she cleaned the blood (which had gotten all over his face _and_ his robes) and inspected his nose. “I thought,” she started, “that with Quidditch cancelled, I wouldn’t find you in here until next year.” 

She flicked her wand diagonally and his nose made a sickening crunch, like it had when it’d broken, except he felt it move back into where it was supposed to be. He yelped at the unexpected sensation before reaching up tentatively to feel it. 

“Thank you,” he said to the woman, who only waved him off and turned her wands to his sides. It took no more than twenty minutes for him to be feeling as if the whole ordeal was nothing more than a grazed knee, though that may have been partly due to the Pepper-Up. 

“Now wait here while I fill out some forms and Floo Professor Sinistra, dear. I’ll be back in just a tick.” she said, patting him on the knee. 

Thinking quickly, he stretched a smile across his face and focused on channelling some of his magic through the hand she still had on his knee. “Take your time, Madam Pomfrey. I’m in no rush.” 

He watched her eyes glaze slightly, watched her sway a bit before nodding, a vacant smile on her face. “Yes...yes of course. We’ve run low on Pepper-Ups and Professor Snape was supposed to brew a new batch but-” she cut off, and her brows creased for a moment before smoothing. She nodded to herself and turned, still muttering, and made her way to her office before closing the door. Hadrian smirked. 

Slipping his wand into hand, he cast _Colloportus_ and smirked when he heard the soft click. He may not be able to unlock doors, but that meant nothing for locking them. 

Quickly, he hopped off the bed and started towards the curtained off ones. The first three were as he expected and didn’t provide any kind of insight as to what had petrified them. Malone, he remembered had been found beside a cracked window in the East Towers and Moon beside a blackened Nearly Headless Nick. 

He went to the fourth one next. Granger had supposedly been petrified last night, so she should be the fifth. But who was the fourth? 

Hadrian pulled back the curtain, and frowned at the sight before him. There, resting frozen on the bed with their eyes open and hand raised towards their face, was Granger. 

Hadrian walked around her bed, inspecting her. She was wearing muggle clothes, as had Malone, but Moon was in her school robes, and the ghost had Berne earring robes when died as well. Of course, they all shared blood status which inevitably linked them, but it was so obvious- surely there had to be something else, something _more_ to it than that. 

He noticed her watch, on the hand raised to her face, and it’s cracked face. It had stopped working at eleven-thirty, which must have been when she’d been petrified and it had broken. Nothing else about her seemed unusual, though he probably wouldn’t have noticed if there was. He didn’t make a habit of watching her. 

Hadrian glanced over at Madam Pomfrey’s door. The slight compulsion he’d used on her would wear off soon, and he still needed to check the last bed. He slipped the curtain closed around Granger before ducking around the last one. 

* * *

Poppy blinked, and just that act seemed laborious. What had she been doing? She looked down at the vial in her hand. It was a Pepper-Up, one of the last ones in stock. That was weird: she’d never allowed the stores to run so low before. Why hadn’t she asked Severus to brew more? 

She blinked again as something pulled at her memory. She’d been woken up last night by a late arrival to the infirmary, which wasn’t totally unexpected considering she _had_ asked Severus for a new batch. They shouldn’t have been finished so soon, she remembered thinking, but Severus was always a proficient and quick brewer and kept the absolute worst hours. And while it was the Potions Master, after seeing him, she’d desperately wished it wasn’t. 

Severus had always been pale, more so as a child, but the pallor of death he had, floating frozen behind a drawn Minerva was worse than she’d ever seen on any living person. His black clothes and hair only emphasised it, but with his eyes wide and mouth agape in horror, he had the appearance of a statue, as if he’d had the misfortune of gazing upon Medusa’s serpentine curls. 

(Poppy never realised the irony of this thought, not until many years later) 

She shook her head, jerking her thoughts away from... _that_. Her hand tightened on the vial. She needed to get this to...a student. Which student? The two fifth years had been fine, more or less, but the other boy... _Potter_. 

Yes, it was Potter she’d tended to. The poor boy’s nose hadn’t stopped leaking for ages, apparently resistant to her blood-clotting spells. She'd have to note that in his medical file for future reference. In fact, she’d have to request for his muggle Healer- or _Doctors_ as they called them- to send his file over. What Poppy had on file would be deemed too-little for a child of perfect health and she knew from her examinations at the end of last year and after that fool, Lockhart, vanished his bones that Potter was quite a ways off ‘perfect’ in the health department. Severus was usually very diligent in seeing to such a thing, what with his own- erm, _background_ \- but he’d not raised any concerns with her. Which was odd considering how close he and Potter were. 

(Poppy snorted at that. If she’d ever had the gall to say as such to Severus three years ago, the dour man would have hexed her five ways to Friday) 

The two of them cut an uncanny but imposing figure, what with how serious they always were. Severus, she could understand (being a former Death Eater and all) but no 12 year old had any business being so severe all the time. From what she understood, Dumbledore had put the boy in the muggle world for that exact reason- he may be the Boy-Who-Lived, but he was still just a child. 

“Poppy!” 

The Mediwitch jumped, whirling around. Her fireplace was lit a bright green and there was a face staring back at her. The woman frowned at her, cat-like eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?” 

Poppy inhaled shakily. “I-I’m fine, Aurora dear.” She shook her head and cleared her throat before kneeling down by the fire, summoning the cushion she kept nearby. “What can I do for you?” 

“Is Potter alright? I’ve not had a call from you yet.” 

Poppy blinked before glancing down at the Pepper-Up. “Oh, yes, he’s fine. A few bumps and bruises, but I fixed his nose right up. Poor boy was bleeding all over the place; apparently, he’s resistant to blood-clotting spells. I’ll have to update his medical record.” 

She snapped her mouth shut. She was- she was _rambling_ like this was her first patient after Mediwixen training. Aurora sent her a weird look, which Poppy couldn’t fault her for. She waved a hand through the air. “I’ll do that later. Come on through, we’re almost finished.” 

Aurora nodded. “Alright then. I’ll be patrolling up instead of Flooing so I’ll be a while. Expect me soon, though.” 

“Take your time, dear. We’re in no rush.” And hadn’t that been what Potter had said? 

With the firecall disconnected, Poppy eyed the vial for another moment before replacing it on the shelf. Potter would be fine without it, and she was going to have to closely monitor what treatment she gave him. Maybe she should make a note in his record now, before she forgot... 

No. Aurora would be here soon and Potter had been sat out there for goodness knows how long already. She knew how much he hated being there (though she couldn’t fathom why. He was a lot like Severus in that respect). 

Determined not to be persuaded into doing admin right that very second, Poppy undid the lock on her door (she didn’t remember locking it in the first place, especially with a patient waiting for her) and marched out into the infirmary proper. 

“Alright dear, Professor Sinistra will be- _Potter!”_ she gasped. 

Instead of being sat on the bed she’d left him at, he was stood over the next one over. The curtain was pulled back, revealing the pale, petrified man that lay on it. 

“Potter, the curtain was closed for a reason! You had no right to breach the Professor’s privacy like that-” She cut off abruptly when she finally got around to seeing the boy’s face. 

He didn’t look shocked, or heartbroken, or even angry. Really, Poppy thought she’d feel better if it looked like Potter was feeling _anything._ His face was scarily blank, as smooth as a statue and just as cool. Potter wasn’t an abnormal height for his age but she’d noticed last year that he was rather thin, something she’d attributed to his mother’s genes. But now, stood there silent and still by Severus’ side with a shaking fist clutched in the man’s black robes, he looked smaller than ever. Pity welled in her chest. 

“He isn’t breathing,” Potter said suddenly, and his voice was even and calm. 

Poppy sighed. “I know. Mr Potter, it’s best if you didn’t-” 

“So he’s dead? The body needs oxygen which we get from breathing. He isn’t breathing.” 

Her heart felt heavy as she listened to him. He had yet to take his eyes off Severus’ frozen form. She watched him cant his head to the side as his dimmed green eyes flitted over the professor’s horror-struck expression. “Perhaps...” 

“Come now, Mr Potter. You shouldn’t have to see this.” She gathered the curtain, drawing them as she attempted to herd him out. When he turned and pinned that unnerving, penetrating gaze on her, she froze. 

Immediately, her mind went back to what he’d told her. “ _Take your time. I’m in no rush_.” So why was she hurrying? 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She blinked. “What question?” 

“Is he dead?” 

Poppy sucked in a quick breath, glancing at Severus. “No, he isn’t.” 

Potter hummed. “Then why does he look like that? And is he breathing? Is his heart beating?” 

“I- yes- _no-_ I-” she frowned and shook her head (why did it feel like cotton?) “I’ve placed him under a spell that oxygenates and cleans his blood manually since he is unable to do so himself. A Healer from Mungos will be arriving later to check everything over.” 

Potter nodded, though she didn’t expect that he understood what she meant. “Yes, I felt the magic. It's strong, but not very intricate. I think it was the wandwork, but then it may have been a mispronunciation of the incantation.” 

“ _Excuse me_ -” 

He waved a hand and her jaw clicked shut. “But why _him_?” he mused aloud. “The others didn’t react like this. They're all fine- more or less. Why him?” 

Poppy tried to stifle her reaction, but a strangled hybrid of a gasp and cry escaped her lips anyway. Potter turned to her before cocking a brow. 

“I may need glasses but I’m not blind. They're right there- oh. _Oh_.” Then a smile stretched across his face, wide and toothy, and the dullness of his verdant eyes brightened to a shimmering emerald. He laughed, and it was short and bitter. “Oh, you think I’m the Heir.” He took a small step towards her, and it was pure instinct for her to take a corresponding step back, though she instantly berated herself for doing so. 

Potter’s smile grew. 

“Of course,“ he breathed. “I am do speak Parseltongue, and I _am_ in Slytherin. Why, the last known Parselmouth was Voldemort.” 

She was helpless against the involuntary flinch that shuddered through her at the utterance of that name. Glassy eyes and torn flesh and crying, pleading voices flicked through her mind. For a moment it was 1975 again, and children she’d patched up after Quidditch matches were gasping out wet, final breaths in her arms. 

She blinked. 

Potter was stood in front of her with bright, intrigued eyes, almost as if he had _seen_ \- 

“Now, Potter, you must understand-” 

He waved her off. “Fix him.” 

“Well, I certainly intend to but-” 

“Now.” 

Flustered, she wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. “I can’t! The mandrakes won’t mature fully for another week at least, and then they’ll have to sit for three days before-” 

“I don’t care,” he said simply, as if he was bored. “You have had the entire year to work something out. You haven’t. Clearly, the problem is that you’ve not had a deadline. Blaise does the same thing with homework due in a week, you know,” he smiled thinly at her, and she could only stare back in confusion. He waved his hand again. “I digress. Now you have a specific deadline to work within. You will fix him. Today.” 

The cotton-y feeling in her head had reduced somewhat, and she blinked rapidly to dispel it. Placing her hands on her hips, she scowled down at him. “I don’t think so, young man. I understand that you’re upset but that gives you no right to-” 

“Come up with the solutions you adults were too dim to do yourselves?” He rose a brow at her. “There were several options available to you. You could have owl ordered mature mandrakes, or ordered pre-made potions.” The smile dropped from his face, leaving a stony contempt. “You’ve done _nothing_ and now-” he cut off. 

Poppy opened and shut her mouth multiple times before she found her tongue. “Do you know how expensive that would be? The school doesn’t have the funding for those.” 

“I don’t care about your politics or your excuses. This school has failed again to protect its students, and the one person who gave a shit is lying here nearly _dead_ -” he took in a deep, shaky breath, staring out of the closest window where two birds- a raven, perhaps and an eagle- were sat looking in. 

Potter shook his head and turned back to the black-haired man on the bed. He stared for a long moment at the man, until his breaths had evened out and his hands had stopped shaking. 

“You promised,” she heard him whisper hoarsely, and her heart shattered a little more at the heartfelt words. 

He straightened, then, and his shoulders pulled back. He nodded to the man a final time before turning to look at her. 

“If you don’t fix him,” he started, voice flat and devoid of emotion, “then I will make what the Heir has done seem infantile.” Poppy paled at that, and a feeling of such intense coldness washed over her that she was sure that a Dementor was nearby. 

She watched him go, breath stuttering as he paused at the threshold. “Last time, Madam Pomfrey, a student died.” 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_~~

Typically, the Slytherin common room was sparsely populated on a weekend. The older students tended to descend on the town of Hogsmeade as soon as Hogwarts’ great doors opened, leaving the first and second years with free reign of the castle- but of course, with the new restrictions in place, nobody was going anywhere. 

The Snake Pit, as they Slytherins had come to call it, was one of the most dichotomous places to be. On one hand, it was the main ground for political dances and thinly veiled insults, the place where allegiances were formed, and rivalries made. It was the one place (outside of the Wizengamot, of course) where cunning was openly praised. 

Conversely, it was the one place they felt relaxed enough to be just students. 

That Saturday, there were more students crammed into the Snake Pit than there had been all year (or the past five). Aravilla Inkwood, a seventh year, had traded a cosmetic charm for a blue-balls hex with Storm Bottlebrush, a pixie-looking fifth year. Dusk Mullberry, a fifth year, cheated a red-faced third year Spruce Jackbuck out of a five Galleon bet. Tracey Davis finished tracing out the wand movement to _Evertestatum_ , effectively sending Vincent Crabbe hurtling into a group of fourth-year boys who jeered and sent the younger boy stumbling back to his group of second years. 

Really, it didn’t differ much from the other common rooms, so it was no surprise when they hardly realised when the entrance peeled away and a figure stepped through. 

Sebastian Wilkes was steering a paper aeroplane through the air until his friend, Merrill Poults, nudged him in the ribs. Sebastian lost control, his concentration slipping as his wand flicked and sent the paper plane careening through the air before hitting the silent figure. 

He hadn’t been all-too concerned, at first. It wasn’t the first time his plane had hit the wrong person, and all he’d have to do was deflect a few paltry hexes, maybe toss a few back and bare his teeth before the person forgot and went back to gossiping. 

Of course, that was before the person turned and locked bright green eyes with him. For a moment, Sebastian thought his heart dropped out of his chest and into his feet. Merrill stopped nudging. 

Across from him, playing (or rather, losing) a game of Exploding Snap sat Lucian Bole, who looked up, glanced at the still figure before sneering at him. “Scared, Sebastian?” he smirked, and Sebastian almost said “ _Yes of course I’m bloody scared”_ but caught himself. There was no love lost between him and... the other boy, but Sebastian had visited Madam Pomfrey enough times in the first term to know some things ought to be left alone. 

Still, the noise of the Pit was dying down as people noticed the sudden tension, and soon enough most of the direction was trained on him and- what was he to do? He couldn’t just ignore things, not with the obvious animosity he and... the other boy had had earlier in the year. But then, was he supposed to challenge him? Would a sneer be enough? A snarl of his name? 

Merrill nudged him. Sebastian glanced at his friend, a dread set into his bones when his friend rose his brows and inclined his head towards the younger boy- who was still just standing there, staring at him. 

Steeling himself, Sebastian turned to the younger boy with a grin, forcing down the terror that scrabbled at him throat. They had the attention of the whole room now. “Well,” he drawled, still smirking, “if it isn’t little Potty.” He heard his friends snicker, and a quick glance over at the second years showed a red-faced Malfoy. Good. If Sebastian was going to go down, maybe the memory that it was Potter’s own friend who’d come up with the misnomer would bring someone down with him. “Are you gonna give that back? Or do I have _more than a beast to worry about_?” 

Behind him, his friends laughed, and it was only because he knew them so well that he could tell that it wasn’t entirely real, but the sixth years across the Pit and the group of girls were giggling too, so he supposed it must have been at least a bit clever. 

Potter just stood there, though, with those jewel-like eyes; bright and clear but cutting all the same. The unnerving half-smile that he’d worn all of last year was back, curving his lips only slightly while the rest of his face remained impassive. 

It made him nervous. 

Sebastian took a deliberate step closer. “Well? Kneazle got your tongue? Or are you used to that mudblood speaking for you?” 

_There_. A muscle in the boy’s temple twitched, and his hands curled into fists. Well, at least he was somewhat human. 

Sebastian was sure that the other boy was going to do something, that his pale wand would spring into his hands and he’d start tossing curses and hexes at him. It certainly looked like he wanted to do all those things. But then Nott called Potter’s name and the second-year gave him a small, chilling smile before going upstairs to the dorms. 

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to do next, so he made some vague comment about Potter being a coward before promptly spinning on his heel and hightailing it back to his seat. 

Lucian was grinning at him and talking to Peregrine about how much of a sissy Potter was, that he wouldn’t dare stand up to a fourth year with the entire House watching. “I told you,” the smug blond said, patting sparks out of his robes “he cheated before. There was no way he could have gotten you before. He's a stupid mudblood-” 

Just then, the entrance opened, and a figure stepped through. Professor Sinistra strode in, frowning before setting off sparks that would put the Weasley twins to shame. The noise cut immediately as everyone turned to the temporary Head of House. 

From his place amongst the second-years, Draco stopped scowling at Theodore (who’d somehow managed to beat him at chess _again_ \- Draco was sure the other boy was cheating somehow) to watch their Astrology professor. 

Professor Sinistra didn’t speak immediately. Instead, her gaze scanned the room full of faces- as if searching for someone. “Has anyone seen Potter?” 

Draco let out a breath and opened his mouth to respond but was beat to it by someone else. “No, Professor,” said Wilkes from his place amongst the fourth years. “He didn’t return to the common room.” 

The room exploded into whispers and everyone seemed to shift, nudging each other. It was a blatant lie, especially considering what had transpired between Wilkes and Hadrian not five minutes ago. Still, nobody spoke to contradict them; it was clear what the other boy was doing. Hadrian was a powerful figure in their House, even as a second year. This was an outspoke challenge, not only for Hadrian but also for Sinistra. Draco knew without a shadow of a doubt that the boy wouldn’t dare tell such a bold-faced lie if Professor Snape had been the one asking the question. 

“It’s true,” added Bole, grinning as he tossed a card at Derrick. “I don’t think he respects you very much, Professor. I imagine he’s snuck into Hufflepuff to see his mu-” 

“That may be hard to do from here, Bole.” 

Draco’s head snapped over as he watched Hadrian descend the stairs at a leisurely pace. He had a small, eerie smile on his face and his bookbag slung over his shoulder. Wilkes and Bole were scowling while the rest of the House buzzed. Draco glanced surreptitiously at Kama and his Court and while each of their faces were customarily blank, Draco could see the hint of a smile curling Scalby’s (one of the only two sixth years in the Court) lips and a sparkle of interest in Penkridge’s eye. 

“And I do hope you weren’t about to use that dreadful slur,” Hadrian said, raising a brow at Bole, who opened his mouth to reply but only coughed instead. 

Sinistra watched the interaction with an impassive face. “Potter,” she started. “I’m sure Filch will be more than happy to get an assistant to help with that trophy room. It hasn’t been seen to in years.” 

Hadrian inclined his head. “My apologies, Professor. I thought I'd save you the trip. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine, and arrived here safe enough.” 

The professor sniffed. “Yes, well rules are there for reasons other than to be broken. Nobody can be too safe right now.” 

“Apart from him, of course,” added Wilkes, grinning. “What with him being the _Heir_ and all-” he didn’t get to finish his words before being overcome by a coughing fit, much like the one Bole was still suffering under. 

Draco dismissed them in favour of fixing his eyes on Hadrian instead, who still had the polite and unbothered look on his face. “Of course, Professor,” Hadrian said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the coughing. “I sincerely apologise if any offence was made. It was not my intention.” He bowed slightly at the waist, and Draco saw Theodore roll his eyes. 

Draco sneered. Clearly, Nott Sr had let his Heir’s etiquette training slip, if he scoffed at the formal apology. _His_ mother had seen to it that Hadrian was caught up on everything he needed to know, and Draco was proud to see Hadrian put it to good use. 

For their part, Wilkes and Bole weren’t paying attention to anything beyond the crawling, squirming feeling in their throats. Sebastian felt a sob well in his chest, but it had no room to escape amid his retching and heaving. The terror that had nearly choked him earlier seemed to have come back in full force, but this time it felt hairy and like it was climbing and scrambling, as if it had dozens- hundreds- _thousands_ of tiny feet that tried to scurry up the slick walls of his throat. 

He retched, tried to cough up whatever was stuck in his mouth, tried to spit it out, but they kept scrabbling and climbing and crawling and _wouldn’t leave_ \- 

Shakily, he reached a hand into his mouth. Maybe...maybe he could pull it out. Yes. Yes, if his hands could stop shaking, he could reach in and pull them out. But every time his hand went into his mouth, Sebastian would gag, and bile would coat his tongue, and the _things_ in his throat would redouble their efforts- 

From his place beside Theo, Hadrian let an idle smile curl his lips. Wilkes had resorted to trying to stuff his hand down his throat and Bole was still scrabbling at his necks with blood-tinged saliva dripping down his faces. 

It really was an ingenious spell, he mused. _Aranea_ _Faucium_ was a spell Tom had told him about a while ago which made the victim feel as if they had spiders in their throat. It was relatively harmless, but if left under it too long Tom had said the person could go insane, or they may choke on their own tongue. 

(He wasn’t very sure, considering he’d come up with it not long ago and hadn’t yet had the chance to test its limits) 

Beside him, Theo was grinning. He knew that his friend was behind Wilkes and Bole’s plight, and while he should perhaps be more disturbed at the fourth years’ pain, Theo couldn’t help but admire how well-played it was. Hadrian didn’t have his wand out and hasn’t so much as looked in their direction- he couldn’t _possibly_ be the one who cursed them. 

_Brilliant._

Theo watched in fascination as Bole hurled again, but this time he spat more than bile onto the floor. First one, then two, then a steady stream of hairy, long-legged spiders writhed around in saliva before finding their feet and scurrying away. Curiously, they didn’t make their way immediately to the shadowy edges of the common room, but rather straight through the middle towards the entrance. 

Professor Sinistra was stood silently, watching Wilkes and Bole vomit spiders. Her lip pulled up in disgust. “It is the mark of a stupid Snake,” she drawled, “to engage in battles with opponents of unknown strength.” She lifted her foot and impaled a spider with the sharp heel of her boots. 

Theo grinned, leaning forward. She pulled her wand from its holster before casting the counter-curse, which Theo watched closely. It wasn’t a common spell (curse, most likely) and a quick glance at Kama’s Court showed that it wasn’t one wielded lightly. 

(Kathleen Penkridge was eyeing Hadrian with narrowed eyes) 

"I will inform Filch to expect the two of you tonight straight after dinner. Do not be late.“ 

Wilkes whimpered from his curled up position on the floor, and Bole was still hacking up a final few spiders. 

Sinistra surveyed the room a final time, looking first to Kama (which was _very_ interesting) before her eyes flicked over to Hadrian- who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have dismissed the room in favour of...was that _Lockhart’s_ book? 

Without another word, their temporary Head of House left, leaving behind a buzzing Snake Pit and two shaking students. 

~~_~Avada Eyes~_ ~~

Albus bit back a tired sigh as he leaned back in his seat. He absently reached over for another lemon drop, only to come up empty-handed. Of course, he’d forgotten to restock this particular batch. Despite its proximity to his own office and quarters, the conference was hardly ever used but with every member of the school board, representatives from the Ministry and each Head of House in attendance to the meeting, the cosy teacher’s lounge he preferred just wouldn’t do. 

“Immediate closure!” called the shrill voice of Lady Smith, her face flushed and framed by fat blonde ringlets. She fanned herself incessantly, though it seemed to be a futile attempt because the motion only caused her to sweat more. “We cannot keep the castle open with such a prudent threat to the lives of the students!” 

“And what of their education?” Augusta retorted sharply. “There are students hoping to take their OWLs and NEWTs in a few weeks.” 

Lady Smith sniffed. “They can do as all the others who don’t attend Hogwarts do and take the tests at the Ministry.” 

Minerva scoffed at that. “And what of the _teaching_? Not every student will be able to afford a private tutor, and I am sure are not a thousand of those waiting about.” 

“No,” answered Lady Parkinson, raising a dark brow. “But these tutors can form classes of their own. Why, I wouldn’t have any problem sending Pansy to a person with the right... _credentials_.” 

An uncomfortable air settled around the table, but Albus didn’t let the gentle smile drop from his face. Lucius Malfoy twirled his cane. “Indeed,” the blond drawled. “It shan’t be too hard to find someone with better _credentials_ that the current Defence professor.” 

Albus’ smile widened. “Why, I’m sure you can, my boy. I admit, Hogwarts has had difficulties in retaining our Defence professors.” He waved his hand carelessly, summoning a bowl of lemon drops from his office. “Nonetheless, private lessons are not a viable option for the entire school. Some students will have an advantage while the others struggle, the muggle-born students more so than anyone.” 

The blond Lord’s lip curled at that and his nostrils flared before he turned sharply away. Someone made another suggestion which was quickly put down by Aurora and started a fresh round of bickering. 

Mafalda Hopkirk was arguing that the Statute would be jeopardised with so many emotional teenagers all over the place. Topaz Custard (whose name Albus could never hear without smiling) thought the students were in danger remaining at school. Parkinson was pre-occupied with outlining the school’s every academic fault and Filius was (rather fruitlessly) trying to provide a bullet-pointed list of reasons for why the students should remain at Hogwarts. 

Albus sighed and stood, straightening his robes. The noise died down, and everyone turned to him expectantly. He smiled. “Well, it seems we are all in agreement.” 

Everyone frowned. “About what?” asked Lady Smith. 

“It would be something of a disaster managing the inevitable magical outbursts that would occur should all the students be sent back, and the petrifications are indeed something of great concern to us all. And it is true that a number of lessons have been removed from the curriculum, which is truly unfortunate because they were all greatly fascinating- and I find myself agreeing with every point that Filius made.” 

Blank faces stared back at him, some looking at each other in clear confusion. Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat. “And what does that have to do with handling this... _situation_?” 

Albus beamed. “Absolutely nothing!” He stood and turned, and it took a moment of shocked silence before the voices rose once more. There was a sharp tug on his robes, and Albus turned to see Minerva scowling fiercely at him. 

“ _Albus!_ ” she hissed, brows drawn and mouth pinched. The elderly wizard smiled. 

“ _Minerva!_ ” 

Her scowl deepened, and her grip tightened fractionally before she rolled her eyes and let go. Turning to the room, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “The Headmaster has acknowledged that Hogwarts has no shortage of matters which need dealing with, but the problem of the petrifications- as the most pertinent one- has no clear answer. As such, we will continue doing our best to protect the students in our care.” 

There was a beat of silence, and Albus took the time to privately gloat at his brilliant selection of Deputy Head. 

A voice from amongst them spoke quietly, but in the quiet were easily heard. “How can you protect the students if you cannot even protect yourselves?” 

Albus felt all humour drain out of him at that, and noticed how the entire room shifted uncomfortably. The Board had kept an eye on Severus over the years (what with all the complaints students left, not to mention his formative years as a Death Eater) and so were well aware of his strength and proficiency with magic; it had to be something truly formidable to overpower him. 

Aurora stepped forward, and her feline gaze was sharp and cold as she addressed the speaker. “Be assured, Mr Glimp, that we will take every precaution. I am working closely with Madam Pomfrey to ensure the restorative draught is brewed as soon as possible.” She paused, and here looked to Parkinson and Malfoy. “The House sticks together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first I profusely apologise for the long wait. Honestly, I have no idea why this chapter was so difficult to write when not much action happened (kinda? idk) but I literally rewrote it 3 times, each time getting to about 8000 words before I started again...but here we are. It's been the longest month ever.
> 
> Secondly, thank you so much to everyone who has commented and left a Kudo- we're at 1500! This story has definitely snowballed into something greater than I ever imagined and I'm so grateful for all the support. I'll be replying to your comments as soon as I've uploaded this but feel free to start a discussion in the comments- I love hearing all of your thoughts! 
> 
> (Also, if there's anything specific you'd like to see, let me know. I might not be able to fit it in, but it may make something of a guest appearance)
> 
> Next chapter features Lockhart, Hagrid and more plans (read: chaos)


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